


UNSPOKEN

by CrownePrince



Category: Trolls (2016), Trolls World Tour (2020), Trolls: The Beat Goes On (Cartoon)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon Compliant, Character Development, Comedy, Danger, Drama, F/M, Fluff, Food, Friends to Lovers, Healthy Relationships, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Innuendo, Romance, Slow Burn, Spice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-13
Updated: 2021-01-12
Packaged: 2021-02-27 08:20:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 41
Words: 145,837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22243981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrownePrince/pseuds/CrownePrince
Summary: Queen Poppy didn’t leave Bergentown unscathed, and Branch is about to discover color comes at a price. It’s going to take a lot more craziness than spiders and a song to bond them together – assuming they survive it.This intense, fun, and deeply satisfying romance adventure picks up where the first movie left off.
Relationships: Branch/Poppy (Trolls), Milton Moss/Smidge
Comments: 411
Kudos: 308
Collections: Best Broppy, Top Shelf Broppy





	1. Never Again

“You will never love again.”

Poppy stopped swinging her legs and sat motionless on the exam table. She stared, wide-eyed, at Dr. Moonbloom.

“Until this is healed.”

“Oh.” Poppy sighed in relief. “For a second there you really had me going. Never love again, haha! Pfft.” She flicked her hand and rolled her eyes. “So how long we talking? A day? Two?”

“I’m afraid it’s not that simple dear,” Dr. Moonbloom said. “Your heart is completely broken. Shattered. Crushed into a thousand glittery pieces.”

Poppy maintained her smile, but as the explanation went on her furrowed eyebrows betrayed her true feelings. She clutched the little jar of shining broken fragments between her hands.

“I’ll be honest dear, yours is a rare condition these days. I’ve seen cases of heartbreak, but that was twenty years ago before we moved here. Even then, I’ve never seen a heart broken this way.”

Poppy looked away. “And the piece that’s missing? It’s not just going to grow back, is it...” It should’ve been a question, but she already knew the answer.

Dr. Moonbloom shook her head. No. The missing half was gone.

Poppy hopped off the exam table with a grin, shoving the jar back into her hair. “I’m sure it’s nothing a few hugs won’t fix! Even if it takes hundreds, or thousands, or hundreds of thousands! Better get started!”

She burst out of the room and strolled through the group of worried friends in the waiting area, speed hugging every single one of them. “Don’t worry, I’m fine! Everything’s fine! Just gotta give it some time.” And she was gone.

Smidge turned to Dr. Moonbloom. “Ok. So everything is clearly not fine. How can we help?”

The troll doctor exhaled and adjusted her glasses. “The thing Poppy needs most right now is a good friend.”

~~~~~~

Branch flailed his arms in a desperate attempt to escape the thing attacking him from behind. “Ahhh! Help! Something’s got me!”

Poppy let go. “Relax, Branch. It’s just a surprise hug.”

He scowled and made a show of brushing himself off before collecting the seed packets he’d dropped thanks to Poppy’s sneak attack. “At least warn me before you do that next time.” 

“Uh, okay, one: that totally defeats the point of a surprise hug, and two: SURPRISE HUG!”

Branch grunted as Poppy latched onto him again, though not nearly as tight this time. He was still frustrated she’d managed to sneak up on him in the first place. It had barely been a week since they’d returned from Bergentown. Had he become so soft that even Poppy could get the drop on him? That was concerning.

“Aww, Branch,” she said, still with her arms wrapped around him. “It’s like hugging a very small, very grumpy tree. Or maybe a rock.” She released him. “We’ll work on that.”

No problem. “All I need is another life-or-death situation and a big musical number. I’ll be dishing out warm, affectionate hugs in no time.”

Poppy’s eyes grew wide and sparkly, but before she could belt out in song Branch put a finger to her lips. Her behavior was far too sugary, like she was overcompensating for something. “Or you could tell me what this is about? I can tell this is about something.” He put his hand down and folded his arms.

“Well, I hugged every troll in the village. You were the last one. So let’s see the results!” With a flourish Poppy reached into her hair and pulled out a jar.

Branch peered at the container, now curious. “Is that… chunky glitter?”

Poppy sighed. She tucked the jar away before he had more time to analyze it. “It may as well be. Thanks anyway.”

All of her enthusiasm was gone. She turned and walked away.

“Woah woah woah,” Branch circled around and cut her off. “You come all the way to my fields, tell me you’ve hugged every troll in town, and then show me a jar of sparkly bits? And now you’re upset. Poppy, what’s going on?”

Poppy wouldn’t meet his gaze. She turned away slightly. “To be totally honest, I don’t think this is something I can talk to you about right now.”

Oh.

The quiet, hopeless way she said that stung his heart. Was he being a bad friend? Did he do something wrong? Unsure which it was, he grasped at the first thing that came to mind. “Does this have anything to do with what we, ah, discussed last week?”

Way to go Branch, bringing up that awkward subject.

Poppy’s blues cleared up as she thought about it. “Uh, no,” she decided aloud. Then she grinned. “Although it was very cute listening to you try to explain how you love me as a friend, and not, y’know, something else. It’s fine! I tell my friends I love them all the time. See?” Poppy pinched his cheek. “I loooove you.”

She suddenly backed off and mused, “Huh. That’s surprising. I guess only romantic love is affected. I don’t feel any different about my friends. Still love them.”

Branch rubbed his cheek, unable to make sense of what Poppy was saying to herself. He was still supremely embarrassed about how the whole ‘I love you but not like that’ conversation had gone – or why he thought he needed to explain it in the first place. Of course Poppy understood what he meant by singing True Colors. Trolls sang about love all the time. But romance? If he was going to pick a romantic song, then…

“Are you okay?” Poppy was saying. “You’re making a very weird face right now.”

He snapped back to reality. “I thought we were talking about you, not about my weird face,” he quipped. “Look, if something’s bothering you – and I can think of at least three things that should be – but you don’t want to talk to me about it, maybe you could scrapbook it out.”

Poppy already had scissors and paper in hand. Branch gently pushed down the implements of destructive creation. He finished what he’d been trying to say: “At home. Where it’s safe.”

The sun was starting to droop in the sky with sleepiness, casting long shadows over patches of tilled earth around them. His bunker wasn’t far from the fields, but it was somewhat far from town, far enough he didn’t have to hear the parties when he was underground. However, that did mean if Poppy didn’t leave soon, she’d be travelling through the woods at night.

“I can walk you home,” he offered.

“No, no, that’s okay. I could use some alone time anyway.” She said goodbye and dashed off towards the village.

Branch watched her go. Poppy? Alone time? He shook his head and turned his attention to the rolling planter he’d built, tearing the seed packets open and pouring them into the machine’s hopper. As he pushed the planter along the row, he began to put the mental puzzle together.

They’d both changed. He had everything to gain from the new path a certain fuzzy sunshine had put him on. Yet lately he’d caught clouds covering that sun, Poppy’s expression turning introspective while she silently gazed at rocks or flowers for no reason. The more he thought about what they’d lived through together, the more certain he was of the cause for that distant, lonely look. 

If Creek ever showed his face again, Branch wouldn’t be responsible for what he was going to do to him.

~~~~~~

Lights of nearby pods illuminated the night like stars. For one of the few times in her life, Poppy wished she had a door on her pod.

She slung open the bottom drawer of her dresser and tossed the bottle of her broken heart inside. The jar rattled against the empty drawer’s sides when she slammed it shut.

Over the past few days she’d been too busy to let herself process the pain in her soul. She did it now.

Everything Creek had ever given her, every memory she’d ever had of him, she tore them from the walls, off shelves, out of drawers. She grabbed the popsicle stick friendship portrait with him in it, the one with the heart, and pulled the photo out, throwing it in the pile.

The empty frame stared at her. In defiance she folded out all of the other sections and set the collection back where it was. The one small blank spot was now insignificant.

When it was all over she looked at how tiny and sad the pile of discards was. “Why couldn’t I see it before?” In spite of herself she barked out a single, pathetic laugh. “I loved you Creek, but you didn’t love me. Not in the way I wanted you to.”

As she put each thing in a basket she was forced to relive the memories behind it. The festivals they’d been to, the dances he’d been by her side for, the late night talks under the moon. So, so, so many hugs. The tears were streaming freely now, but Poppy didn’t make a sound. She had trusted him. She would have done anything for him.

In the end, his own safety had been worth more than hers.

Creek had truly liked her, once. Over time something changed. She was always the one to reach for his hand. He barely made any effort to find alone time for just the two of them. No matter what she did, he drifted further and further away.

One night alone in his pod she’d tried to kiss him like before, but he’d gently pushed away. His words echoed in her mind. “Sorry Poppy, I can’t do this.”

That should’ve been the end of it, but she kept hoping she could fix their relationship. Even up to the very moment he’d betrayed the trolls, betrayed her, she thought she could make it work.

Why, why, why, did she give him a piece of her heart? She wanted to take it back. But she couldn’t. It was gone. The ache in her chest threatened to squeeze out horrible heartbroken cries.

Dr. Moonbloom was right. She’d never love again. Not like this. It hurt so much. How did people survive this?

Poppy took the basket of mementos down to the lagoon and dumped the contents into the water.

She thought that would be the end of it. She was wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FOREWARD
> 
> The first movie, the holiday special, the shorts on Dreamworks’ YouTube, and 7 seasons of Trolls: The Beat Goes On (ending with Gem Day) are canon to Unspoken. Anything past that point, along with the books and comics, is out of the picture. World Tour didn’t exist at the time of writing except for trailers.
> 
> People either love or hate The Beat Goes On. Because of that I’ve incorporated key events into Unspoken directly so you don’t need to watch the show to enjoy this fic.
> 
> If you find any typos, comment with the misspelled word so I can CTRL + F and fix those suckers. I also appreciate writing-focused critique: tips that will improve my writing for the next time pen hits paper.
> 
> Thank you for reading!


	2. How to Frown

Poppy would've sworn a cupcake that a moment ago Smidge was standing beside her, taking notes. Somehow the notes had become an ice cream cone, and Smidge was eating it.

"Smidge!" Poppy said, startled. "Where'd that come from?"

"You've been staring at that rock for an hour. I left and came back." Smidge opened her free hand to reveal a sticky, empty popsicle stick. "Twice."

Poppy turned to regard the outcrop of mossy stones. A large, smooth boulder stood in the middle of the other rocks. The soft green moss at its crest was slightly thinner than elsewhere. It had once been a favored meditation spot of a particular troll.

Now the dappled sunlight played alone over the rocks.

Poppy hissed through her teeth. "Ooo. Sorry about that."

Smidge raised an eyebrow. "Are you sure you don't want me to mentor Branch so you can focus on the bergens?"

"Nope, I need you to go set up the pool party for tomorrow. I'll handle everything else. See?" Poppy fanned out a batch of envelopes. "I've already got the invites. Just have to hop on the royal flyer bug and take them to Bergentown."

"That'll take you all day."

"Exactly! I'll be back just in time for Meadow's sleepover."

Smidge grumbled. She seemed to think going to a slumber party every single night was excessive, even for a troll. Poppy figured it was just the right amount to keep her mind occupied.

"Okay gotta go find Branch bye!" Poppy said.

She trotted to the town market where he was supposed to meet her. Multicolored stalls populated the clearing with sweets, treats, hair flair, clothing, crafting materials, glittery bits, and loads of fun doodads. It was one of the few places she'd seen Branch come to the village for in the past.

He was already there when she arrived, leaning in his usual spot under a mushroom at the edge of the market. He unfolded his arms and stepped out to greet her. "And here I was worried you were going to stand me up."

"Don't need to if you're already on your feet. I'm going to show you everything you've missed!"

She cupped a hand over her mouth and whispered close to his ear, "Everythiiiiing," scoring a look of panic.

She leaned back. "Now come out of the shadows. Come on, come on," she beckoned until he came to her side. "Why are you standing out here when you could be in there?" She gestured to the market's happy hustle and bustle. Lyrics began to form in her head.

_You're standing in the shadows. I_ _–_

"A song, now? Really?"

Poppy shot him a knowing look. "Would you prefer a scrapbook?"

"Song it is."

_You're standing in the shadows, I can see_  
_And it's no good if you only open up to me_

She offered her hand and wiggled her fingers until he took it. The bluesy buildup of the intro continued.

_The day around us is bright and new_  
_Full of people who want to get to know you~_

She let the note fall into a dramatic pause and squeezed his hand. Branch realized what she was about to do too late. She twirled her hair around a tree limb.

"Poppyyyyyyyy!" he cried as she whisked both of them up into the treetops and right into the upbeat pop song.

_You've got to open up_  
_Your heart to all the joy_  
_That can come from a friend_  
_Like me and you_  
_Like me and you!_

Even at his grumpiest the 'new' Branch was unable to resist music. Poppy grabbed her other friends for duets at the "like me and you part," and eventually she had Branch joining in too.

She was singing, but something wasn't right. Someone was missing. A familiar voice.

_Like me… and… you…_

The pod was still there. Its once bright yellow was faded from lack of use, purple and greens dimmed. No one lived there now.

The song wrapped up without her. In the background, trolls shared the laughs and celebration of a tune well played. Someone walked over the tree path to stand beside her.

"I've never seen you quit a song before," Branch said, scanning the woods for what had distracted her.

Poppy spun around. "Landed the jump a bit awkward, stubbed my toe. Clumsy of me, right?"

Branch wasn't buying it, so she pulled the holiday scrapbook from her hair and handed it over. The first part of reintegrating him into society was to have him experience as many troll holidays as possible.

The second part involved a flower. Until Branch experienced enough happiness, the strand of azure hair planted in the gem garden wouldn't bloom. He was the only adult in the village who didn't have his troll gem. She aimed to change that.

~~~~~~

New scrapbook in tow, Branch wandered around town looking for a familiar face. Biggie was not difficult to spot. Even with short hair the blue giant was easily the tallest non-Cooper troll in the village. Branch wasted no time and went straight over.

"There's something wrong with Poppy."

Biggie frowned. "You always say that."

"That's not what I—" Branch rubbed his forehead, cursing his past self. "What I meant was Poppy isn't her usual self. It's almost like she's…" he hesitated. "Sad."

He expected some kind of troll freakout, but Biggie wasn't phased. "That's because she is sad. She and Creek were very close, you know. Very close indeed. Like two peas in a pod. Like a herd of puffalo on a rainy day. Like lovers—"

"OK Thank You Biggie," Branch said. "If all of you know she's upset, why aren't you doing anything about it?"

"Well of course we are! But she pushes us away and pretends she's fine. A bit like you, actually." Biggie tapped his chin, lost in thought for a second. Then he continued: "I'd do anything to make her feel better, but nothing has worked. Not even a get-well-soon card. I think the answer will have to come from within. Right, Mr. D?"

"Meep," the worm confirmed.

The conversation left Branch frustrated and grumpy. He owed Poppy the happiness he had now, and yet here were her friends saying there was nothing he could do to help in return. He stewed over it all the way back to the bunker, down the elevator, and over to the living room table where he put the holiday scrapbook Poppy had given him to study.

May as well get this over with.

The popup inside unfolded bit by bit until the first pages were on display. He held his breath, listening for the crack of the firing mechanism.

No sound. No glitter.

"Finally," he said aloud. "Something goes right today."

The book contained all of the current most popular troll holidays. Apparently he was supposed to learn them and teach the village kids alongside Poppy so she could see his progress. This seemed like a poor use of the queen's time – any troll could mentor him – but it wasn't his decision to make.

Some of the holidays he recognized from his childhood, but most were new: Jellymas, Balloon Day, Uncontainable Applause Day, Smidge Fest.

He paused. "Smidge Fest?"

He flipped through the scrapbook, curious about what he was in store for this year.

"Hug Day. A day you can only give or receive one hug. Heh. Sounds like my kind of holiday."

Branch folded down the popup of two trolls hugging to the next section depicting a snowy landscape. "Snow Day. Celebrate the one day of snow a year with activities like snowball fights, sledding, skiing, ice climbing, skating." He pulled a tab to reveal a long list of winter activities. "Fun."

This wasn't so bad. Lots to look forward to. He went to the next page. A set of little paper trolls of all ages held hands. The words "Family Day" sprung up above them.

The book sat open like that for a long time.

~~~~~~

TIme skipped along and rattled the uncomfortable twist in her chest along with it. The feeling wasn't great, and it wasn't going away.

Poppy was sitting at her dad's kitchen table. Haircraft projects in various stages of completion occupied the large, two-story pod. She worried sometimes that he got lonely living in such a big place by himself.

"I wanted to ask you about mom," she said.

Peppy was surprised. "Did you want to read her memoirs again, or were you thinking one of my stories about her?"

"Actually it's more about you. How did you, y'know, get back up again after she was gone?"

The lines of concern on her dad's face softened. He seemed to understand why she was asking about this. "Well dewdrop, that's not an easy question to answer. Your mother and I were together for a long time before you were born. Losing her is the most painful thing I've been through."

He scratched his wild, gray-streaked mane and looked away, into the past, with a chuckle. "Eventually the good days outweigh the bad. It can take years, but one day you're able to think about the person without sadness. And, believe it or not, you learn to love again too."

Poppy smiled, but it hurt. "I don't know if that's true for me, dad."

"We'll see. Promise me one thing," Peppy said, giving her a hug. "Promise me you'll let yourself grieve."

"Ugh. Dad!"

"Poppy," her father warned.

"Fine. But I'm doing it my way."

"That's my girl!"

Poppy stepped out into the world. She took a deep breath, let it out, and smiled.

A thump sounded on the far end of the tree limb.

"Poppy!" Branch shouted, standing tall and proud with hands on his hips. Everyone turned to look.

"Branch? What's going on?"

"This is an intervention."

If anyone here needed an intervention, it wasn't her. "I'm not the one with a trap-setting problem," she said.

"Nope. You have a different problem." Branch leveled a finger at her, and all the eyes around followed. "You're upset."

Poppy flicked a hand in dismissal. "Pfff. No I'm not."

She strolled along the treetop path. She had to get within reach of Branch ASAP. He was already drawing a crowd. The fact he'd whipped out an electric guitar wasn't helping. She quickened her stride.

Branch continued talking loud enough for all to hear. "Oh? If you're not sad then you won't mind if I play this tune."

He struck a mournful, longing chord, took a breath, and began to sing.

_You—_

Poppy grabbed his hand and yanked him aside. "Branch," she hissed in a low voice, ignoring the excited faces of everyone watching. "You can't just show up and make a spectacle."

"No?" Branch didn't bother to whisper. He had a maddeningly smug smile on his face. "You make spectacles all the time."

"About positive stuff!" Poppy waved her hands. "Positive stuff!"

"I don't really see the difference." He held his guitar pick aloft for another stroke.

Poppy lashed her hair around a bough further up and pulled the still-smiling Branch to a secluded nook. "What do you think you're doing?" she scolded. "If you play a depressing song like that you're not just going to make me cry – you'll make the whole village cry. Think of the water damage!"

The smug grin hadn't left his face. He was up to something.

"You did that on purpose," she realized.

"I've been trying to talk to you all week, but you're never alone. And every night, party, party, party. Just be glad this plan worked. You don't want to know my backup plans."

"Did they involve traps?"

"Maybe."

Branch sighed and put away the guitar. "Listen, this is embarrassing, so I'm only going to say it once. I'm worried about you."

Words like that coming from Branch of all trolls made her spirit glow. He didn't like sharing his feelings. Poppy clasped her hands together. "That's so sweet."

"Ah ah ah, let me finish. I locked away my emotions for twenty years and you saw what that did to me. Now that I want to be happy again, the past is crashing down all at once. I don't want to see that happen to anyone else. Especially not you."

"So," Branch said, pulling out the remote control he called Gary. He had a habit of naming things. A side panel popped out of the remote and he pressed some buttons. "Here's what's going to happen. In ten minutes Biggie is going to meet you here and you're going to let out whatever it is you've been keeping locked up. Then you're taking tomorrow off."

"I have to head the gala committee tomorrow. I can't take a day off."

"Or I can play my song for everyone." Branch began to pull the guitar out of his hair.

"Okay okay!"

"Great. Now show me a frown."

She... frowned?

"It needs to be more severe."

He watched, bemused, as she tried all types of smiles. She had a pretty good relaxed non-smile, she thought.

Branch reached out. "Just… let me do it. Here."

He poked the corners of her mouth and pulled them down, down, down. She strained to hold it there.

"Are you sure this is right? It doesn't feel right," she said. Her smile tried to right itself. She could feel the corners drifting up again. Branch pushed them down. They did this a few times. Every time he let go, her face was like dough springing back to its original shape.

He raised an eyebrow. "I think you and I have opposite problems."

Together they managed to get her face to stick in a neutral flat line, which must've been difficult because she wanted to laugh at how serious he looked while trying to adjust her expression.

Branch muttered, "Can't say I didn't try." He stood back to admire his handiwork. "I gotta say, it does not suit you."

"Whatever Branch; I look good with any face. Now go get Biggie already."

The teal troll hopped down from their hiding spot. Poppy tried to keep a straight face, but her mind wandered back to how she'd been tricked. Branch could outmaneuver her if she wasn't careful. This was not how she scheduled her afternoon to go. He'd successfully separated her from the pack, and now she was thinking about Creek again.

"Poppy, what happened to your face?" Biggie began to panic. "He said you needed help but he didn't say it was an emergency!"

"Woah woah Biggie, it's okay. I'm fine."

Poppy steeled herself for what she was about to confess. She didn't want to talk about it, but she knew she had to. If she internalized it she'd lose color.

"Alright, I admit it: I'm not fine," she said. "What happened in Bergentown, it messed me up. Creek, he—" her voice cracked. She knew this would happen. She couldn't say his name without falling apart.

She turned away from Biggie so he wouldn't see. "I couldn't save him," she managed, her voice weak. A tear rolled down one cheek. As she reached to wipe it away, her hug watch made a soft ting and bloomed.

"Poppy," Biggie said softly. "It's okay. Have a good cry."

She turned and ran into her sensitive friend's open arms and sobbed. The words fell from her mouth in a choked cascade. "I couldn't save Creek. He's gone. He's gone and he's never coming back."

Not everyone had made it home safe. She'd failed.

Biggie's comforting embrace kept her warm. She mashed her face into his vest. "Why did he do that to us, Biggie?" she asked, expecting no answer. "Why didn't he let us help him? I should've been able to stop him. Because of me he's…" the words stuck in her throat as sorrow overpowered her. Poppy fell silent and cried.

"Shhh, it's alright," Biggie was saying. He held on to her. "Let it all out."

Poppy clung until her tears slowed to sniffles. Finally she stepped out of the hug. Biggie handed her a tissue box after pulling a few sheets to dab at his own eyes.

Poppy was exhausted. She felt empty. Hollow. Broken down. And yet somehow, she felt better. "Biggie, I'm sorry you had to see that."

"I'm always here for you Poppy. We all are."

"Thanks. That means a lot to me."

A blip poked into her mind and wiggled around. Something Branch had said, something about the past crashing down on him. Was that happening now?

"I think there's something wrong with Branch," she said.

"Funny, he said that about you too."


	3. Joy Ride

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I picked up the word 'trolling' from Dreamsinger's Picturebook Romance. It's the perfect term for troll children.

He was so small, running through the troll tree. He called for his dad over and over, but there was no answer. It was deathly quiet. No one was around. Fear and loneliness pressed down on him as the tree limbs closed in, empty gray pods hanging. He watched grandma get snatched away. She reached for him, but he was falling. His family was gone. He was all alone. Family gone. All alone.

Soft blue light from the glowshroom outlined walls and furniture. His bedroom. Another nightmare. The sense of dread clutching his heart began to fade as he moved. Groggy, he peeled off the wet nightshirt and let it slide into the basket with the others. Next, cold water from the sink to splash on his face. He dried off with a hand towel. This was all part of the routine now.

Funny. He'd slept fine before. No bergens could penetrate his defenses. But there was no place deep enough underground to escape his own demons. Now that he'd opened his heart, they were there, madder than ever. Snarling and dripping with rot from being repressed for so long.

Normally he'd shuffle back to bed, but since he was up and needed to be in the village this morning, he may as well use the time. He fumbled around for a travel mug, his rucksack of tools, leaf fabric, something to eat, and two puzzles he'd assembled and disassembled countless times.

Only early risers were out and about in the village. He watched the occasional color go by from his chosen spot up in the tree.

"Good morning Branch," Smidge said. Her eyes narrowed. "I gotta ask, is this some sort of prank? Because if so," she lowered her voice and cupped a conspiratorial hand to her mouth, "I want in."

"No prank this time. Poppy has the day off."

Smidge looked at the puzzle pieces strategically placed in front of Poppy's doorway, then up at the entry covered by a curtain of leaves. Her gaze returned to Branch. "I see."

Moment of truth. Either Smidge was going to fight him, or she'd play along.

She said, "Looks like I'll be finding trolls to do queen tasks for the day." She took out a list.

Tension he didn't know he had released. Apparently he'd battle Smidge for the sake of one of his plans. Even though he'd lose.

A devious grin spread over the tiny yellow troll's face. "She will try to escape out the windows."

"Already got that covered."

"Good luck."

Moments later the leaf curtain rustled and the queen herself stepped out. "Smidge, where are y— oh."

Branch ignored Poppy, continuing to organize puzzle pieces by shape, sticking them together whenever he noticed a combination. Behind him, Poppy exclaimed upon realizing she had just passed through a leafy door.

"I see what you're doing Branch. Any other modifications you'd care to enlighten me about?"

He didn't look up. "Not especially, no. _Enjoy your day off~_ " he finished in sing-song.

Behind him Poppy growled. The leaves rustled and a muffled pat of footsteps crossed the living room back and forth a few times. It got quiet for a second. Then, a surprised voice: "Glue?!"

"Yeah I wouldn't mess with that," he said loud enough for her to hear. "It's an especially strong adhesive I mixed myself."

Anything going in or out of the windows was sure to get stuck; anything trying to wipe it off, ruined. He just hoped he didn't have to pour solvent all over a stuck Poppy. The stuff stung as much as it stank. There was a jar of it in his pack just in case.

More agitated pacing within the pod, low mumbling, and finally a flurry of scissors clipping away. Good. She'd found something to do.

Branch sipped on his coffee, pleased for having outwitted Poppy. As a reward he enjoyed an hour or two assembling the puzzle and scowling at anyone who dared approach. The amount of invitations trolls attempted to deliver to the queen was astounding. If he didn't know any better he'd think he was jealous.

Poppy decided to press her radiant charisma against his willpower a second time.

"Say Branch, you must have a ton to do today. How about switching guard duty with someone else? Cooper could come over earlier than planned, take over for you."

He laughed. "Not a chance. I may not know your – our – friends as well as you do, but I know better than to put Cooper in charge."

"No worries," Poppy replied. The end of her hair swept through the leaf curtain and came back as a fully stocked, fuzzy pink bookshelf. "I'll just share every scrapbook moment I have with you. Starting of course with the ones you already know."

_Once upon a time, in a happy forest, in the happiest tree—_

"Poppy, no."

"Don't worry, my voice will be fine. I can read these all day." She put extra slow emphasis on "all" and "day."

He broke into a long groan, but as he did so he reached into his rucksack, pulled out two red spotted mushrooms, and inserted them into his ears. The groan turned into a pleasant, "Aaaah."

Poppy snapped her scrapbook shut, turned on her heel, and dragged the whole library back into the pod.

Branch spent a delightful three hug times eating lunch and getting into the second puzzle at Poppy's doorstep. Word must've gone round he was there because the invitations trickled down to nothing. It was peaceful in the treetops. The trolls were partying elsewhere today.

Actually it was too quiet. It dawned on him Poppy hadn't tried to hug him a single time. Had he heard her hug watch go off? He couldn't remember. Crud.

Branch approached the privacy curtain. "Poppy?"

No answer.

"Poppy, I'm coming in."

He peeked around the curtain to an empty room. Well, not empty. Paper shreds littered the plush floor. The round bed that doubled as a table during the day was stacked with glitter jars and bookbinding supplies. An unfinished art project, some kind of glittery heart, sat on the dresser. But no Poppy.

Branch stepped around a pile of folded laundry. A crumpled mess of orange paper revealed Poppy's attempt to wipe off a windowsill. The adhesive was still in tact, though. How had she escaped? He brushed a hand over the wall. Sturdy construction. No way to part the fibers and slip out unnoticed. He turned.

His heart rammed into his throat as something huge and soft crashed into him and dragged him up the wall.

"Gotcha!" Poppy shouted triumphantly from the kitchen doorway. She'd plastered him to the inside of the pod with her hair. He struggled, but she pressed harder. She'd even tied down his hair as a precaution. Checkmate.

"Did you think you were the only one in the village who could set a trap?" Poppy asked.

So there he was, pinned to the wall, having a staring contest with the queen.

"Wow," Cooper laughed. "I do not have good timing."

Despite whatever Cooper thought was going on, the oddball troll made no motion to leave. Branch wondered how many more trolls were going to show up to look at the queen's miserable new wall hanging.

Poppy folded her arms with a cheeky smile. "I'll give you two choices. First, I hold you here and walk as far as I can. Then, when I let go, you'll have to chase me all around town. Second, you come with me and do some socializing."

"Okay," Branch said. "I'll take the third option."

"Nope. Those are your choices."

Cooper chimed in. "You should let _her_ chase _you_. That'd be crazy fun!"

The thought of Poppy chasing him for any reason at all was somehow more terrifying than the current situation he was in. He sighed, defeated. "Guess I'll come with you."

Poppy released him, all except one little tendril wrapped around his wrist. Whatever she had planned, there would be no escape.

"Alright," Poppy said cheerily, clapping her hands together. "Get up on Cooper."

"Are you kidding me?" Branch said.

"No, she's serious," Cooper laughed.

Poppy had her hands on the back of his leaf vest, scooting him up to the fuzzy, striped troll. He hesitated, wondering if there was supposed to be a saddle or something. But Poppy kept urging him onward, so he swung himself up onto Cooper's back.

Cooper's fur was unbelievably poofy. He felt compelled to snuggle into it. At that exact moment Poppy hopped up behind him and threw her hands in the air. "Joy ride!" she yelled.

Cooper burst out of the pod at full speed. Branch hurled his arms around Cooper's neck and clung on for dear life as they tore up, around, and somehow upside down along the treetop. Leaves and colorful pods corkscrewed around his vision, the wind rippling through his hair and tickling his face with Cooper's fluff. He was vaguely aware of Poppy's unabashed laughter behind him, coupled with Cooper's goofy giggle ahead.

"Higher!" she cheered. "Higher!"

With a running leap, Cooper flew off the tree into open air. They began to fall. Branch didn't want to yell but the sound forced its way out of his lungs as they dropped. He couldn't control it. Poppy screamed with glee, her hands tossed to the sky. This was fun for her?! They were going to die!

Cooper's hair shot forward and wrapped around a tree limb. They swung in a massive arc, punching troll-shaped holes in the leaves as they went. And went. And went. Cooper didn't let go and the three of them gradually rose to the top of the swing. Only then did Cooper release his hold. It was just enough to make a neat landing on a nearby bough.

Branch discovered he was laughing breathlessly, tears in his eyes, despite himself. Aside from trekking directly into enemy territory, that was the most dangerous thing he'd ever been forced to do. His heart pounded away and adrenaline coursed through his veins. He was alive!

Cooper ambled his way to a curly slide and hopped in. When he finally stopped at the bottom, Poppy slid off his back and reached a hand up to help Branch.

He managed to get down but quickly discovered his legs were jelly and sank to his knees. He put his hands in the grass, feeling angular blades give way to stability below. Oh, how he loved the solid ground. He rolled onto his back and splayed out. It'd be good to stay right here until the flowers and shrubs grew over him.

A dazzling freckled pink sun filled his view.

"Whenever you're ready, I've got lots more to do," Poppy said.

"I'm good, thanks."

Poppy looked at his more or less lifeless body sprawled in the grass.

"I think I can trust you to stay here," she said. The hair tendril wrapped around his wrist slid away. Now was his chance to escape.

He didn't move.

The sun felt so nice and he hadn't slept that well, so he must've dozed off because the next thing he heard was Guy Diamond.

Maybe if he pretended to be dead they'd leave him alone.

"What did you do to him?" Guy said.

"What, Branch? Oh he's fine. He's a little overdosed on fun."

"You can do that? Have too much fun?" Guy sounded amazed.

"If you're Branch you can," Poppy said.

He heard the muffled coosh of footsteps and felt a tickle on his nose. He sat up, brushing away the feather suspended in Poppy's hair. She was wearing a different outfit, a yellow sundress, her hair styled and bedazzled with flowers. How long had he slept? Couldn't have been more than an hour. A swiff of pink hair curled around his arm.

"Up up up! We're going shopping."

Shopping. That wasn't so bad.

"For glitter!" Guy sang.

Branch crashed back to the ground.

Guy tapped his sparkly chin in thought. "Are you sure there isn't something wrong with him? All trolls love glitter. As a glitter troll I would know."

"Believe me," Poppy said. "He's fine."

Branch dug his fingers into the ground but it was no use. Poppy was perfectly happy to shift her hair's grasp to his ankle and drag him through the dirt.

"No no no," he fussed. "You'll get grass stains on my clothes."

"Branch, your vest is literally made of grass."

"Leaves."

"Leaves, grass, it's all nature!" Poppy yanked him to his feet, twirled him around in an unexpected dance move, and caught him. Her nose was mere inches from his; her eyes sparkled with excited mischief. "Now let's go." She set him free and headed toward the market.

Guy was sporting a big, handsome, toothy grin and a cocked eyebrow.

"What?" Branch snapped.

"Oh, nothing."

They spent the rest of the afternoon touring the market's glitter festival. Everyone was thoroughly coated in the stuff, and Branch's hair was full of sparkly things Poppy asked him to carry when she ran out of room. She dragged him into a different activity with each and every one of her closest friends, her little hair band tugging his arm like a hug watch any time he lagged behind. The literal bond drew plenty of amused looks.

Smidge rolled on the ground with mirth. "Oh my gah, is this your new pet, Poppy? What's his name? Can I brush his hair?"

"Why yes, Smidge, you may." Poppy pulled a comb from her hair – the one non-glitter thing she'd gotten at the market.

Smidge used her mint fronds to pull his within reach for brushing. He folded his arms and grumbled at her, "I thought you were on my side."

"Eh, I knew Poppy would get the best of you eventually. Now hold still, you've got a tangle."

Smidge successfully got herself and the entire area covered in glitter from combing. Somehow there wasn't any less of it in his hair than before. That was the magic of glitter: limitless spreadability. Like the plague.

Poppy's escapade continued with dancing at one of Suki's performances. Immediately afterward she took off in a new direction.

"Poppy," he panted, maxed out on spending time with other trolls. "Do you do this every day?"

The queen slowed her pace so he could have a moment of calm. "No, this is what I do when I want to feel better. All my favorite things with my favorite people."

She let his hand go free from the hair bond. "This is for you by the way. Thanks for coming with me today."

Poppy handed him the comb from earlier. It was simple and practical, made of a tasteful striped variety of wood. She'd given him a few presents over the years and countless cards, but this was the first time the gift suited him.

"Thank you," he said, feeling comb's smooth finish. He felt self-conscious that he didn't have anything to give in return she'd like.

Oh wait, he did.

He gave Poppy a hug.

She snuggled in more than usual, but he expected it. It was a special thank-you hug, after all.

Poppy said, "I'm going to read to the kids, but you don't have to come with me."

He felt refreshed now, though. Maybe one more activity wouldn't hurt. "I don't mind," he said.

They went to the village pod where children gathered for the nighttime story. Poppy must have wrestled this task back from Smidge because there were no other storytellers about.

Inside, the little ones jostled for a spot in a semicircle, flipping and tumbling over each other in a carefree tussle. It had been difficult to be around kids in the past, knowing that any day the hand of doom could come crashing down on them. With any luck that wouldn't be a problem anymore. Watching the kids' innocent happiness now gave rise to a strange feeling he couldn't identify, like a need to protect.

"Is Branch telling a story tonight?" one of the boys asked excitedly, a little green troll with freckles and blue hair. Keith, if he was remembering right.

Poppy looked towards Branch, her small, warm smile a sign she was done pushing him outside his comfort zone for now. "Not tonight," she said.

She sat and pulled out a newly minted scrapbook. The trollings listened. Every so often one of them would get overly eager and interject, as kids always did. Poppy answered their questions and made up story details on the fly.

They adored her, but then again, who didn't? He was content to sit and watch over the scene from the back. Poppy showed off colorful popup images as she read, her face a ray of sunshine. At her feet all the colors of the rainbow bobbed with youthful curiosity.

Something about this felt right. A healing balm on his happiness-starved soul.

His gaze wandered to the back of the room. An unused plush stool stood against the wall, one that matched Poppy's current seat. She'd spent the day doing her favorite things with her favorite people, but that chair was empty.

Realization hit him like a ton of bergen bricks.

The troll that used to read with her was no longer here.

If only it had stayed that way.


	4. Rebound Friend

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The canon cupcakes scene was a beast to try and explain. This chapter pulls a couple of direct quotes from the series.

Poppy paced in circles around her bed. The morning had gone from wonderful to weird, beginning with Cooper teaching the Creek Week yoga retreat and ending with Creek himself limping into town wearing ragged clothes covered in grime. Her friends had moved quickly to take care of the battered troll. Meanwhile, Branch seemed determined to tear Creek's hair out, wrap him up in it, and feed him to the spiders. Deep down, like, deep deep down, she was fine with that.

Creek's return put her emotions on the fritz: overjoyed he'd survived, furious he'd sold them out, sick he'd broken her heart, hopeful he could fix it. He had the other half. She could get it back and be all rainbows again.

The mangled remains of her love glittered on the dresser. Hot glue created the formless sparkling statue she had now. The shards were so tiny and similar she hadn't been able to puzzle it together, even using her heart-shaped troll gem as reference. She could already see pink dust pooling as it continued to fracture apart. It wouldn't be long now.

Buzzing wings and a soft thud on the wood outside called her attention. Creek stood on the threshold, palms pressed together. A companion bug hovered beside him with a basket of cupcakes clasped between its feet.

"May I come in?"

He didn't need to ask. She had no door for a reason.

Poppy waved him over. Creek placed the goody basket on the center table. His movements were reserved, far different from the airy confidence he used to have. Even without it he was still a gorgeous troll. Shiny, two-toned green hair and slightly glittery skin.

She looked and felt nothing. It was as if she was seeing him for the first time.

"What happened to you?" Poppy asked.

"It's a bit of a story."

She nodded and sat beside the table. He joined her and launched into his tale.

"First of all, Troll Village is safe from that bergen. She was eaten by a woodland spirit. That would've been my fate too, but mother destiny decided to spare me in an, ahm, embarrassing way."

Gross. Not unheard of, but still gross. The vindictive part of Poppy snickered.

"After that I was completely lost and alone." Creek stared at his hands, his brow furrowed as he described several near-death experiences caused by his own naivete. "I would have been finished out there, but your parties are quite loud. Music to my ears. I've never been so relieved in my time on this earth."

Creek let out a heavy sigh. The shadows on his face revealed creases that hadn't been there before.

Struggling to survive in solitude would haunt him for a while. Poppy had never been alone for more than two or three days. Months? It was unthinkable. Even Branch used to visit, if only to gather supplies or sulk in the shadows.

Whatever punishment Creek deserved, nature had taken care of. Huh. Fitting.

He removed two cupcakes from the basket. "These are for you. I found the basket near the river. Someone meant to give it to you and left it there."

A lost present for her? Creek could've kept it for himself; she loved sharing. He'd brought it here anyway, knowing that. Thoughtful. She accepted one of the cupcakes with a smile. Creek was alive. She hadn't failed. Guilt she didn't know she was carrying dropped away.

Branch picked that moment to stroll in with a handful of photos and more than a little enthusiasm in his voice. He stopped dead in his tracks when he saw Creek. This was her chance to set a good example for Branch in terms of forgiveness, show him Creek wanted to make amends.

"Branch, look! Creek found a present someone was going to give me."

"You don't say," Branch growled.

"This is a nice thing you did, Creek. Thank you."

"Don't thank me, Poppy, thank the bloke who arranged this basket, whoever he is. Not only for the treat, but also for our time together. Oh, you've got a little," he reached for her nose and the bit of frosting stuck there, "boop."

"So do you. Boop."

Creek chuckled and booped her nose again. It was contagious. She booped him back.

She said, "See Branch? Creek isn't— Branch?"

He'd vanished.

Creek looked at the empty doorway. "He seems different."

"He's happy. I told you he could be."

"I'm still sensing quite a bit of negative energy. He's not bothering you, is he?"

"Bothering me?!" Poppy blurted. "He's such a sweet guy once you get to know him. Eccentric, rough around the edges, and he still has a lot to learn – but, sweet."

Creek didn't look convinced. She couldn't blame him. How many times had he consoled her after one of Branch's harsh rejections?

Poppy's shoulders sagged. "Look, before you go I need to ask you something."

"Mmm?"

She tapped her fingers together, suddenly bashful. "Could I get that piece of my heart back?"

Creek's smile slowly transformed into one of embarrassment. "About that. I may have… lost it."

"WHAT?!" The shock jolted her off the ground.

Creek's composure crumbled. His words were a babble of hurried explanation. "I had it with me; I should've given it back to you sooner. I really meant to, but I – I was such a coward! And then it broke. Poppy, it broke and the pieces were everywhere and I didn't think that you… that I…"

Poppy's hands fell to her sides uselessly. So that was it. "Could we get the pieces back?" she ventured.

Creek stared at the floor. He shook his head no.

Somewhere out in Bergentown her heart had been pulverized to a fine dust under the heels of her new friends.

She sat down with a thud. Creek reached out a comforting hand but he didn't touch her. "Poppy, I truly am sorry."

"I think you should go."

He hesitated, then withdrew, looking over his shoulder on the way out.

What a mess. This could take a while to fix.

Throughout the week she focused on reintroducing Creek to the village. It wasn't difficult. Trolls were quick to forgive. Creek's confidence returned and he started up his past activities.

"Poppy, may I read with you tonight?" he asked.

That might not be the best idea. "Ok, but, Branch—"

"—is very thoughtful to have stood in for me while I was gone. I'll be sure to thank him."

Creek never got the chance, because Branch turned and left the moment he saw them together.

Creek let out an exasperated sigh. "See? Negativity."

There was one place Creek didn't fit in the way he used to: with her close friends. Creek spent most of his time meditating and forming new bonds in the village. She couldn't help but wonder if the shift was because of a certain dark horse who refused to exist in any place Creek did.

Branch lagged far behind her friends on the way to the picnic that afternoon. Each day was worse than the last; his mood was getting sour to the point of vinegar. Time to put a stop to that.

Poppy stood apart and waited for him to catch up while Smidge and Biggie unfurled the picnic blankets. Best approach this gently.

"Hey, what's wrong?" she asked.

"Oh nothing's wrong," Branch said, voice dripping with sarcasm. "I was just wondering when you're going to replace me here too."

The sarcasm clawed its way into her nerves. She pushed it aside, confused. "What do you mean, replace you?"

"Well you've made it very obvious now that Creek is back you don't need me anymore."

Poppy couldn't believe he was being this shortsighted. "Branch, that's ridiculous."

"Is it?" He dropped the bag of picnic supplies. They clattered loudly. "Because the way I see it, everything we used to do together is now his. Is that all I ever was to you? A rebound friend?"

"A rebound friend!" she sputtered, ignoring the gasps behind them. "Is that what this is all about? You think after everything we've been through that's how I feel?"

"No, no, it's fine," Branch was saying. "I'm happy for you. I really am. You've got your lover boy back. No need to worry about settling for second place."

"Creek and I are not—" Poppy bit back her remark, refusing to have this argument. "Fine. What does it matter to you anyway?"

"Because I—" Branch snapped his mouth shut, anger sparking from his eyes. He turned his back and his words were suddenly cool. "What Creek did to you was wrong. I wish you could see that."

He walked into the woods without looking back.

Poppy did the same in the opposite direction, leaving a pack of very confused friends behind.

Suki scratched her head. "What… just happened?"

~~~~~~

"Branch and I got into an argument." Poppy poked at the giant pizza slice, her head propped up in one hand.

"But you two are always together," Bridget said. Then she turned defensive on Poppy's behalf. "Girl, what did he say to you?"

"Nothing! Agh, I don't know. Remember that troll we were trying to save, Creek? He came back to the village, and now Branch is like, jealous of him or something. Why can't he forgive Creek and move on like the rest of us? He's so weird."

"Tell me about it. When Grissy gets jealous it can be kinda suffocating."

"Ugh, I know," Poppy said, tearing off a bit of pizza crust and stuffing it into her mouth.

"When I want him to apologize a kiss always works. Maybe you should try it?"

Poppy shot her friend a playful smile. "Bridget! I'm not gonna kiss Branch. He's my friend."

"How about on the cheek? Friends do that sometimes, right?"

"Well yes, but…" Poppy couldn't think of a reason not to, actually. Bridget was technically correct. "I'm still frustrated with him. He's gotta learn to forgive."

"I think if it matters to you, he'll do it. He obviously cares about you a lot."

Branch could learn to forgive. She believed in him. She just hoped it wouldn't take twenty years this time. "Thanks, Bridge."

Something else popped into her mind. "Could I take some of my pizza home? Cooper loves this meat stuff."

"Sure."

"Um, it's not made from anything that talks, is it?"

"Oh my gosh. Poppy, no."

"Ok just checking."

The visit to Bergentown lifted her spirits, but she could still feel the tension when Branch was around. Today he was leading a group hike at a pace that could hardly be called relaxing.

"You know," Smidge said, falling in step with her. "I could make Branch apologize."

"I know you want to help," Poppy replied, "but he needs to figure this out on his own." Maybe this fast, determined hike would clear the bees out of his brain.

Or not. She realized he'd taken them to the waterfall cliff. "Branch, this stop wasn't on our hike."

"Wasn't it?" he said in a sort of surprised, cutesy way. "Oh well, may as well enjoy the view." He started forward again, peering over the waterfall. "Look, Creek—"

One moment Branch was in front of her, the next he was gone.

Poppy raced to the cliff edge in time to see a flash of blue disappear under the raging water.

Without thinking she threw a hair lifeline around a tree and jumped. Sharp rocks dug into her feet as she scraped down the sheer cliff. Scrambling, she managed to wedge her foot into a crevice.

It cost a second, but she looked over her shoulder to see how much time she had. The current was pushing Branch to the edge of the falls at a sickening pace. Terror gripped her insides. She was going to be ill.

A splash of magenta on the rocks beside the rapids. "Creek!" she screamed for his attention.

Poppy released her grasp on the cliff and rappelled down as fast as she could, no longer noticing the scrape of protruding stones. In horror she saw rubble spilling down as the gang followed her foolhardy decision to race down the cliff.

She hit the ground running. Branch clung desperately to a stone in the center of the roaring water. He was too far away. Creek was Branch's only hope; he stood at the water's edge. Why wasn't he moving?

Branch yelled over the noise at Creek. "You said you'd sacrifice yourself for any one of us!"

Poppy was close enough now to hear Creek's response. He was ashamed. "Yeah, that promise may have been a bit premature."

"Creek!" Poppy said, aghast. But the extent of Creek's cowardice was nothing compared to what happened next.

Branch leapt onto the stone as if he'd never been in danger to begin with. "Ha!" he shouted. "I knew it! I knew you couldn't be trusted. And now they know it too."

All of the sheer panic she'd felt moments before came crashing down as a wave of raw anger. The cuts on her feet burned.

Creek's hair wilted with humiliation and his gaze fell, downcast. He quietly apologized for not being brave and wandered into the undergrowth. Poppy couldn't keep the frustration out of her voice. "Rrrr, Branch! We already knew Creek had weaknesses and we were trying to accept him anyway."

Her outburst caused Branch to finally register the disappointment on everyone's faces. His ears drooped. "Okay, well, I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize to us, apologize to Creek! He could've been hurt. When he forgives you, we'll forgive you." Poppy glared at Branch, daring him to question this ultimatum. Then she and the others put their backs to him and dropped a hairricade, shutting out further discussion. They didn't have to wait long for pouty footsteps to thud off in search of Creek.

Biggie was quick to end the angry silence. "Poppy, your feet…"

She looked. Beneath the dirt, neon blue and green were starting to bleed through.

Nobody mentioned whose idea it was to pack medical supplies while she washed, treated, and bandaged the cuts. They waited, but neither Branch nor Creek returned. It was a quiet hike home.

When the apology failed to materialize the next day, Poppy went back to the waterfall.

"I told Branch I'd only accept the apology if he sang about how great I am," Creek said.

"Creek, are you for real right now?" she asked. Branch would never do it.

"As real as this stone beneath me. You see Poppy," Creek explained, "if Branch truly has changed, then he should be able to surrender his ego for a mere minute. If not…" Creek shrugged, palms still together.

Unbelievable. Both of them, really.

Poppy waited to see how this would play out. She'd intervene if they couldn't resolve their differences.

As it turned out, Creek spared no expense in the lyrics.

" _You're enlightened but humble, and handsome, and so very brave_ ," Branch sang. He did a whole routine, too, had all the plants and the bugs joining in.

The feud was over. Their friends came together around Creek, cheering and dancing. Branch stepped out of the group and watched the party at a distance. Poppy wasn't about to let him slip away.

Branch said flatly, "Not gonna celebrate with your boy Creek?"

"Eh. He can be a bit much. Which makes what you did all the more beautiful. In fact, I want to hear your song again. Suki, hit me with that remix!"

Poppy knew Branch had a smile in him. She held his gaze while she bobbed up and down to the beat, grinning. If she acted cute long enough she'd get something back. He kept his arms folded, but the corners of his mouth crept up. There it was. Time to dance it out. She nabbed his arm and pulled him into the party.

The small gathering grew as music and dancing drew trolls like moths to a campfire. Suki dipped into a full-on DJ set, melding one tune into another in an intoxicating flow. Lyrics dropped away, leaving only pulsing, harmonious beats.

Poppy poured her energy into the rhythm. She bounced into a fancy footwork battle with Cooper, swapping move for move as they stamped and twirled out complex patterns. With a suave curtsy she switched out with Guy. Harper was free; Poppy took the artist's color-mottled hand. They linked arms and spun, using musical queues to change direction. "Great surprise party!" Harper said.

"It was totally unplanned!" Poppy laughed. They stopped spinning and did a hip bump, switching partners.

Poppy made her way across the dance floor, catching glimpses of her friends among the multicolor rave. Satin and Chenille struck poses, their hair weaved in an elaborate braid. Cooper leapt higher and higher, noodly hair flopping with every jump. Smidge wrapped her mint locks around Branch's arm and sent him spinning.

Creek passed into her zone. The fluffy robe he was wearing swayed with smooth moves. "See?" He said. "It all worked out. Boop." With a tap to her nose he slid back into the crowd.

"Hug time!" the trolls roared. She latched onto the person next to her.

Suki gave the floor to DJ Turner and the sweet sound of EDM pulsed over the crowd, streaming bubbles along with it. The evening light show illuminated glossy spheres in reflective colors. This party was set to keep rolling all night.

Somebody had the foresight to set up a snack bar. Poppy sidled up to the punch, letting the groove control her movements. She bobbed in place while pouring refills for trolls who needed a break.

Branch stumbled out of the crowd. "Smidge can really dance," he panted, taking the cup of punch she offered.

"You still up for more?" she asked. His foot was tapping the rhythm.

"Just," he breathed, "gimme a sec."

"You got it." She shuffled around the table, checking the snack supply. Plenty of pretzels, candy bowl overflowing, lots of water, popcorn was fine, fruit tray could use a refill. The impulse to get more fruit almost sent her away, but she caught Branch looking at her quizzically. Right! Dancing.

She offered her hand, and he took it. Excitement sparked. "Come, come, I wanna show you something."

They weaved through the trolls toward a big mushroom in the center. Poppy started the chant. "Biggie! Biggie! Biggie!" The words quickly spread.

She reached the center, holding Branch alongside while her free hand outstretched for the next link in the chain. Soon they'd formed a complete circle around the stage. Instruments dropped out of the music until it was barebones beats. The chant guided Biggie to the top of the mushroom. He closed his eyes and bowed his head, tapping his foot to the building music.

One. Two. Three.

Biggie burst into song. The world around came to life, insects lighting up, flowers swaying and singing as Biggie's fabulous voice painted the scene in beautiful hues.

Everyone around the stage released hands and broke into a choreographed routine. Poppy took the lead, showing Branch the moves. He had the natural troll instinct for dance. He followed her guiding push and pull with ease.

The way he was smiling, it wasn't the usual wry Branch smile, or the warm supportive one, no, this was something different. Something alive. Poppy wanted to see where it led.

The moment was too brief. By the end of Biggie's song she could see her dance partner was reaching his party limit. She led him off the floor, elated, free, feeling like this was the perfect time to take care of something.

She was so full of joy she didn't realize she was still holding Branch's hand until an unexpected tug brought her to a halt. He freed himself from her grasp and stared at the ground beneath her. "How long have you had those?" He sounded angry.

The bandages. He was talking about the bandages on the bottoms of her feet.

"You weren't supposed to jump off the cliff," he said, quiet now.

"And you weren't supposed to fall."

"You could've stayed where you were and yelled at Creek for help."

"Branch, I jumped onto a bergen's tongue to save you. Did you really think I'd stand and watch?"

"Well, yes."

"Then you've got a lot to learn buddy. Wait here," she said. He'd followed her up into the troll tree. She zipped off to her pod, got what she needed, and returned. Branch came with her all the way to the tip top.

"What are we doing up here?" he asked.

"Something I should've done a while ago."

Poppy looked out over the place full of people she cherished. This was her home. No matter what happened she could, and did, love everyone here. She didn't need a heart to do it.

With a smile she reached into her glitter pouch, took a fistful of the dust, and flung the powder over the precipice. She had to scrape a bit for a second handful. When that was gone she turned the pouch over and tapped until it was empty.

The remnants of her heart glittered in the air and faded away. What a small, frail thing it had been.

Poppy expected a cynical remark from her companion, but he was blissfully silent. He had no idea what she'd just done. She sat on the limb and swung her legs, enjoying the distant music and lights below. "Thanks for always coming with me Branch, even though I know it's not the most fun thing for you."

"You did say I should participate if I wanted to learn how to be a troll again." He sat beside her. "Besides, after the spiders incident, letting you run off on your own makes me nervous."

She shrugged. "I can take care of myself."

"You can. It's when other people are involved you go crazy. Then stuff like this happens," he pointed to her feet.

"And that's why I have all my friends to look after me. I know you and I don't agree on, like, a lot. But you are always there when I need you." She looked over at him. "You're going to be an amazing troll someday, Branch."

Her sincerity caught Branch off-guard. He quickly composed himself with a sly grin. "I'm not already?"

She punched his shoulder. "You know what I mean. Now come on, you probably want some alone time and I have a party to get back to."


	5. Living a Nightmare

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updates on Mondays. Please excuse the quick episode rehash in the intro. I'm super curious about your reaction to this chapter!

Be a better troll.

Branch flew through the village, dropping gifts into windows and on doorsteps. He'd done this enough times over the years the route was a reflex. The hooded jacket made maneuvering tricky but it was necessary to blot out his colorful hair.

Luring Poppy away from the village and planting false evidence would probably not give him points toward improving as a person. Yet it was necessary if his gifting was to remain anonymous. The last thing he wanted was for everyone to know it had been him this whole time.

Be an amazing troll someday.

Ugh, he hadn't been able to shake those words from his thoughts. He tripped another flower alert. It didn't matter how many of them she'd set up: he was faster, and she was distracted elsewhere.

He landed in front of Poppy's house and was greeted with an unexpected surprise. An alarm beetle flipped open its wings and screeched. Bright red light blared. Poppy wasn't playing around; she wanted to know who was giving gifts. The box meant for her tumbled from his hands, rolling onto the tree path. Good enough.

He raced out of the village, went over the river to shake any potential pursuers, and wound his way back to the bunker in a confusing scribble. All clear.

He pulled off the jacket. Nothing to see here, just an everyday guy wearing his usual outfit.

It didn't matter. Poppy was already there. Somehow she'd figured him out in spite of his misdirection. She proceeded to pester the truth out of him, and then surprised him again by choosing to keep his secret. Poppy wasn't going to tell anyone he was the mystery giver.

He found himself riding the elevator down to the first floor, one hand on the controls, the other gripping a taped-up thank you card.

The card cubby behind his round table was full. The shelves would've overflowed long ago if he tried to keep everything. After some thought, he swapped the newest addition with an older invite for Hug Fest, which he'd never been to. Poppy's thank you card made him grin because this time it was someone else who'd destroyed and then repaired it. The irony was delicious.

He was in a really good mood.

It wasn't enough to bring good dreams.

A murky sky shadowed hollow pods, empty doorways of black. The bergens took everyone. He knelt on the ground knowing he would never, ever see them again. No matter what he did. No matter how much he loved them.

Grandma was gone. He'd never again come home to the warm scent of fresh fluffleberry cake, the times spent baking together after market days, his little hands working out silly shapes in the leftover dough. There would be no more late night slumber parties where they'd eat sweets and play board games way past bedtime. She wasn't there to tell her stories, or sing with him, the only thing that held him together after the others were gone. She wouldn't be there as he lived on, couldn't comfort him when he fell.

His dad would never know the things he'd taught his son were skills he used every single day. Every time he shored up a wall, every timber he cut, the tunnels of his underground home, that was all his father. The life where dad walked through those halls, the life where his family came to visit the place he'd built from scratch, was a life that did not exist.

It was a life like his brother's. One that ended a long time ago.

The pain was unbearable now. He'd never known his mom. He never would.

Branch lie abandoned in the nothing. What was the point? Why do anything when it all went away in the end? He lost the will to get up.

A dull color emerged from the shadows.

He was on his feet. He turned his head so she couldn't see. She was here? She was here, she could help…

Poppy came too close. "Branch." Against his will he was face-to-face with her, deadened gray pink. Hard disappointment in her eyes at his weakness, at his inability to move on. "I thought you were better than this," she said.

She looked him over and it was cold and unfeeling.

"I don't know what I saw in you," she said.

His heart shattered.

Branch shot upright, the nightmare burned clearly in his mind. He couldn't breathe. He scrambled to the edge of the bed and stared at the floor, trying to forget. He wanted to forget. Please don't let this be one he remembered. "Gotta move."

He changed into a robe and debated whether to make coffee. Silence drove him outside.

The details of the nightmare dissipated under fresh, starry air. Moonlight illuminated the yard enough for him to walk its perimeter, feel wet dew on his feet. Wedge crickets trilled to each other. The forest played its music.

He couldn't stay this way.

When trolls experienced a severe negative emotion they became colorless. As a result, it was a common misconception he had stayed gray because he was depressed. No. Strong emotions faded with time. To stay gray for so long required the opposite. It required no emotion at all.

He'd been gray because he felt nothing. He hadn't been happy or sad. He'd simply been.

At first not every day was the same shade. Most of the time he was alone and could work, build, learn, survive. Other days he did have a feeling, and it was usually one of frustration. His strategy was to overcome pain by ignoring it. Every time he checked in and discovered it hurt as bad as before was an embittering experience.

But sometimes… sometimes things were good. When he was included, or invited, even if he didn't attend. When trolls left gifts for him. When someone fancied him. These things brought color to his existence.

And with color came pain. Those lighter grays were the worst. He'd have the good feeling only to suffer night terrors, heightened fears, crushing loneliness. He couldn't have good without bad, and the bad, it was so much worse. In the end he chose the blank space in between.

He grew used to the void, learned to like it, even. There was no pressure to socialize, no expectations at all; he could do anything and nothing, could come and go without consequence. As an empty shell he discovered boundless freedom. In isolation he found peaceful serenity.

Then Poppy knocked him over and everything got worse. She made him feel. Annoyance, compassion, anger, curiosity, fear, humor: everything. His eyes turned blue. He didn't want this. He was done letting pretty faces into his life. He wasn't a passing curiosity, didn't need to be "fixed," wasn't broken. Poppy didn't care. Gray gave way to dust covered marine.

She encouraged her friends to reach out. He painted GO AWAY on his doorstep. She asked about the bergens. He built traps around town. She threw raucous parties and hoped he'd come. He waited for the day something bad would happen and take her away. Prove him right. Pitch him back into colorless quiet.

Now it was loud, and he was the one singing. Now he remembered what a real hug felt like. Now he was more himself than he'd ever been, and he had two options, because he sure as sugar was not going back to the void.

He could ask for help, or he could go to the source of his trauma.

Branch grabbed his rucksack and went to the stables for a flyer bug. Now that being spotted by a bergen wasn't an issue, flying was the fastest mode of travel for a lone troll. The one significant risk was, well, he didn't want to think about those vile, feathered monsters with their stabby beaks, contorted scraggly feet, how their necks snapped to and fro at broken angles while they burned holes into your soul with their bulbous, beady black eyes.

Ugh, now he was thinking about them. He scanned the sky with suspicion for birds. The flyer bug skimmed the treetops along the way to Bergentown, passing over carnivorous hills and fields of floating eyes.

He pulled into the Bergentown tree, landing just outside the trunk. The bug refused to go any further. "C'mon, c'mon," he coaxed, tugging on the reins. It didn't budge. "Guess you're staying here then."

He tied the bug to a nearby stem.

When he'd been forced to see what the tree had become without any happiness to sustain it, he'd noticed no signs of their old homes. But there was a possibility that other places survived.

He trekked around the base of the flourishing tree looking for clues. Everything was grass now. Without the lush flower thicket, the little saplings, or the mushroom logs, he couldn't get his bearings. The foliage used to be so high it blocked out the miserable gray buildings, and you could pretend the iron bars didn't exist as long as you didn't look up.

Somewhere on this lawn there had been a market, a water park, a sports arena. All of it was gone without a trace.

Branch approached the tree's enormous, twisted rooty base. This part he remembered: a storage area and a party supply factory. He stepped through a curved hole that might have been a doorway. It was dark further in. Any windows were overgrown with roots.

Pulling a handful of dried herbs from his pack, he unhooked the lantern and tossed the multicolored flakes in. The glow gnats inside freaked out, bumping and tussling with each other for the treats.

He swirled his hair through the lantern loop and held it aloft. Light spilled over the room's earthy remains.

He jolted back.

All around him the ghastly shadows of trolls haunted the walls. The empty hollows stood stacked, row upon row. Wooden fodder to distract the bergens the day they fled.

"Yep. Gonna have nightmares about this one."

He grit his teeth, wishing the trolls had been pragmatic enough to cut the blocks of wood first, then carve. Maybe they thought the holes could be used to make life-sized chocolates. Typical.

Branch dared to walk far enough in to see a tunnel leading to another part of the tree. The tunnel split in two directions. He'd have to be careful not to get lost in here.

Room after room told the same story: aged but organized piles of materials, empty nooks, no valuable mementos left behind. This wasn't a desperate last minute rush. It was a calculated escape. One that got everyone out.

Everyone who was still alive, anyway.

Branch followed a spiral staircase up to the next level. He stepped over yet another exoskeleton, its cracked papery hide ghostly in the low light. He had to squeeze through a gap in the roots to get through. The tree was slowly filling in the abandoned corridors.

The next passage opened to a tall entryway guarded by carved double doors. This was it. One of the doors was ajar. He peered inside.

Every shelf in the library was barren and furniture was all that remained. He went in and walked past one of the tables. He'd been here as a kid, but the difference was so stark he could hardly believe it was the same place.

Something was wrong.

The scrapbooks should be here. He was sure they'd been left behind. He moved through the library, looking for clues. The shelves were clean but dusty, no sign of wanton destruction or burning. No scrappy remains from bookworms. Critter tracks on the floor suggested recent activity, but none of them appeared interested in the shelves.

Branch lowered the lantern and followed a set of circular beetle prints between two shelves. The tracks ended abruptly.

A heap of dead insects piled against the wall, their bodies crushed and sucked dry. The top glistened with slime, a slime that went up the wall and onto the ceiling.

_Plink._

The sound echoed in the darkness.

Something was in here with him.

_Plink._ Closer this time.

Branch took off. He rounded the shelf corner and ran along the wall. The thing on the ceiling slooshed at an alarming speed. He scrambled between another row of shelves, dashed into the center of the library, and tore through the exit.

It was a trap.

His feet hit the layer of goo outside the door and he slipped face forward. He hit the floor with a crack, arms outstretched. The lantern flew from his hair and clattered down the stairs. Beads of light scattered. Darkness fell.

Wet ooze stuck like spiderwebs the more he struggled to get up. He couldn't see anything. His ears were still ringing from the fall and his heart hammered away, but it wasn't enough to block out the sound of the predator approaching from above.

With a whip crack it tore the rucksack off and a slimy tendril struck him just under the shoulder blade. A whorl of teeth tore through his vest and dug into his flesh. Needles of pain. He writhed.

No one would save him. No one even knew he was here. Stupid.

Another sucker lashed and bit his leg, but he hardly felt it. He was furious with himself for this whole stupid life, for having wasted it, for letting Poppy trick him into ever leaving the safety of his bunker.

Poppy.

He quit moving. With bated breath he blindly wove a strand of unstuck hair until it bumped the rucksack. Topside, left pocket. It was still there, from that day with her.

Branch whipped his hair back and dumped the bottle of solvent all over himself.

The predator shrieked a skin-prickling cry as the pungent liquid burned its blood suckers. Solvent splashed into Branch's open wounds and the searing pain was fire. He was free.

His hair flared to life in a blinding flash, lighting up the cavern. It'd burn his energy to nothing, but he didn't care. He tore down the stairs and through the passages. White glowed at the end of the troll carving room.

The predator pursued him out into broad daylight. He ran through the grass, feet pounding the packed earth. Everything roared with exertion. He didn't make it to the pavement.

A monstrous foot smashed down from the sky. The quake knocked him to the ground. Slime and guts splattered everywhere.

Branch was stunned.

"You okay little guy?" the bergen asked, not seeming to care her pant leg was dripping with gray, snot-like ooze.

"You just saved my life," he squeaked.

"Eh. Can't stand slugs anyway." She shrugged and walked off.

He trudged back to the flyer bug, untied it, and went home on pure adrenaline. He tied himself to the saddle with his hair just in case. All of his stuff was gone, he reeked, he was starving, and he desperately needed to rest, but the only place he'd feel safe was his bunker.

At the bug corral he stumbled off the flyer, unable to walk. Oh. And everything hurt.

A familiar ball of energy headed right for him.

"No wonder we couldn't find you, I— Branch?" Her tone turned to alarm as she got closer. "What happened?"

The ocean's rushing waves were drowning her out. He felt far away. "Gonna pass out now," he managed.

"What?" Poppy gripped his shoulders, trying to hold him upright. "Is that blood?" She sounded kinda angry. He slumped into her. This was nice.

"Smidge? Smidge!"


	6. First Crush

Poppy felt like she had to start all over again. Branch's escapade made him more paranoid than ever. He dug his heels in whenever she wanted to go outside the village, he became super territorial about "his" part of the forest and got into a fight with both Creek and party factory owner Sky Toronto over it, and she'd lost count of the number of times she'd had to get someone out of one of his traps. He'd even undermined her leadership on one occasion, bringing an eyestalk plant into the village with near disastrous consequences.

Compared to that, the traps she could handle.

He meant well, and his mistakes could be funny and endearing when they weren't so frustrating. Or frightening. He'd really scared her, showing up bloodied like that. More than she cared to admit.

Physically Branch's injuries healed, but he wouldn't talk about why he'd gone to their ancestral home. Any time she brought it up he changed the topic. However, his surprised reaction to the existence of troll village library was very suspicious. Sending a recovery team to get all of the Bergentown scrapbooks had been one of her first actions as queen. Whatever book he was looking for, he should be able to find here in the village.

She hoped someday he would open up to someone. Knowing him it would take a long time or a special person. Did Branch think about such things? She couldn't help but wonder if he'd thought past getting his gem, or if he was the type of troll to be satisfied on his own. He fit the bill for it, but then again, he'd quoted that poem, and he sometimes got this faraway look on his face. Curiosity nipped at her heels.

At the moment both of them had unwittingly been sucked into Smidge's hair strength boot camp. Poppy barely made it through the hair-ups without spraining something. She slipped her hair over to Branch for the partner workout. He was as worn out as she was.

"Smidge," he breathed, "is so intense!"

Smidge wouldn't give them any time to talk. "Cut the gab and lose the flab you two!" She took Branch's spot and started whipping Poppy's hair into shape. Then, all of a sudden, she stopped.

"Um. Hello? Smidge?" Poppy said.

Branch waved a hand in front of Smidge's face. "Huh. It's like she's completely gone."

"I can't really say this has happened before. Did you freeze tag her?"

"No."

Poppy looked over her shoulder but all she saw was the obstacle course and critters in the pasture beyond. She tried again. "Smidge? Smidge!"

Finally Smidge snapped out of it. What was the reason for the trance?

"It's because of that guy," Smidge said, angrily pointing through the pasture to Milton Moss, the village critternarian. "He's always messing with me! He makes my palms sweat, then my heart skips a beat, then the earth moves. Why I oughta!"

Smidge was the fiercest person she'd ever met, but in this moment Poppy wanted to squeeze her adorable friend.

"Uh, Smidge," Branch said. "That doesn't happen because he's messing with you."

"Yeah," Poppy added. "It happens because you have a crush on him."

Smidge's idea of a confession appeared to be tearing across the obstacle course like a raging growlbeast. Poppy, Guy, and Branch hair grabbed her before she could jump over the fence and scare the sprinkles off Milton.

Clearly Smidge needed a little love advice before they set her free. The gang led her to a clearing with a mushroom table and chairs for some practice. On the way there Poppy sidled up to Branch in a totally unsuspicious way. "So. I thought you were 'passionate about romance.'"

"I'm not. That was sarcasm."

"Funny you were so fast to point out Smidge has a crush."

"No," Branch explained, "that was you."

"Ohhhh, right." Poppy pretended to come to a realization. "So you _don't_ know anything about romance."

"Well I wouldn't say I don't know _anything_ —"

"—Ah hah!"

Branch glared, but it was his fault for falling into her trap. The glare softened into an exasperated sigh and a smile. He shook his head. "Can we just focus on the task at hand?"

"Great! You can be Smidge's boyfriend."

"What? No. Guy is right there, ask him to do it."

"Oh I could. But I want to see you play the part."

"You know what? Fine. I'll prove to you I can have a totally normal conversation with someone I like."

Poppy enjoyed watching Smidge maul Branch and Guy for the next two hours. She was a little worried Milton wouldn't survive tomorrow's introduction, though. He was as gentle as his lilac-colored skin, probably the biggest softie in the whole village.

And yet somehow it worked. Well, at least for as long as Smidge could pretend to be a quiet and dainty little lady. It wouldn't last.

After a few days of this Poppy heard screeching spiders and rushed onto the scene. She wasn't the only one who heard the commotion; Branch always seemed to be wherever the danger was. They made it just in time to see Smidge in a ripped white dress beating two giant spiders together with her hair. Milton was on the ground staring in a starstruck daze.

Smidge dropped the spiders and they scurried away, sufficiently terrorized. She also dropped the ladylike act and apologized to Milton, said she'd stay out of his hair from now on. "Nice knowing ya!" she ended with a smile. With that final goodbye she turned and left.

Poppy and Branch walked with her.

"I'm smiling," Smidge said, "but I feel terrible."

"It might be hard to believe now, but one day you'll feel better. Right, Poppy?" Branch said.

Or your heart broke forever.

"Right, Poppy?" Branch repeated slow and clear.

"Oh! Right." She looked straight ahead, wishing she could escape the calculating stare he was giving her.

He didn't suspect something was still wrong, did he? She'd shaken everyone else's concerns off with layers of positivity. It's not as if it hurt. There was obviously a blankness where there should be something, but it was fine. Cupcakes, how much longer was he going to keep staring?

After forever Branch's attention returned to Smidge. "Besides, plenty more trolls in the troll tree, right?" he said.

Smidge sighed. "But only one Milton."

"You know," Poppy said, "You could give him another chance. To get to know the real you."

"Really?" Smidge sounded so hopeful. "Well in that case I have a lot of working out to catch up on!" She raced ahead, leaving the two of them behind. Poppy crossed her fingers that she'd read Milton's reaction right.

"Seriously?" Branch said. "You had to get her hopes up?"

"What did you want me to do, let her stay depressed?"

"No, I wanted her to be prepared in case it doesn't work out."

Pessimist and optimist walked a Smidge-length apart in tense silence. Branch was studying her again with the same intensity as before. Poppy knew she was about to get a very uncomfortable question. She slammed her cards on the table before he could.

"So you have been in a relationship before."

He didn't answer for a while. Eventually he said, "It was a long time ago."

"When you were gray."

"Mmm."

Trolls were curious. She could definitely see someone testing the waters with the mysterious recluse. The village really only had one. Trolls also liked to help, to a fault. Maybe someone tried to help him and it had gone wrong.

Branch said, "I had a lot of issues to work out. Still do. It took a while to learn I couldn't be happy with someone unless I was happy with myself." He examined his open palm, folded it into a fist, and held it to his heart. He looked away.

"After I realized that, I always saw myself as alone."

That was such a sad worldview she could hardly stand it. "But you're happy now, right?"

"Yeah," he said with a little bit of amazement while it sank in. "I guess I am."

~~~~~~

The scrapbook was so old its colors were yellowed, the swirly penmanship dulled to gray. Branch took great care to close the book without damaging its aged spine. None of the tales on the pages were about his parents. He'd only found a handful of memoirs in the library, each about a different famous historical figure. Biographies and autobiographies were the same with few exceptions.

He'd made no progress, and Family Day was tomorrow. With nothing left to do, he reshelved the stack of scrapbooks and turned his thoughts to the garden. Maybe he could start early on harvesting burleberries. Spend the day making jam.

Cooper's shout was like a kazoo in a cave. "Branch! I found you! Smidge said you'd be here."

"Hey, shhh! Shh. This is the library," he hissed.

"Yeah and it's too quiet. Books are supposed to be loud and fun. See?" Cooper did a little jig and music filled the shelves. While he was dancing he reached under his hat and handed out a card. Inside the glitter-free invite was a collage of letters in all different fonts, sizes, and colors.

It took a second for Branch to read the hectic words. "You want me to come to your place tomorrow?"

"Yeah! I thought you could be like my crazy uncle. Or my dad. Always so serious."

"Aren't you older than me?"

Cooper laughed. "That doesn't matter!"

Cooper was, by far, the most unusual guy in the village. He looked like no one else, and his music could be… interesting. It occurred to Branch that he might not be the only one with no family left. "Huh. Okay. I'll come."

The next morning started with a sense of purpose and a warm inner glow. He hadn't been forgotten. In a way, he was starting to understand his friends were family – just maybe not in the literal sense that Cooper had.

"His dad," Branch laughed to himself while he worked. "Can you imagine, Gary?"

Having a son with Cooper's personality. Haha.

Gary sat unmoving on the counter. A mini stereo nearby played recordings of songs Branch wanted to learn. He belted out the lyrics where he knew them and hummed the rest, careful not to get so carried away he sliced open a finger with the large knife.

Surprising there weren't so many fingerless trolls, really.

He cut the top off a tomato and squeezed the seeds and juices into a bin for the compost, then diced the fruit. Music played him through the repetitive process until he had most of the bowl full of small red cubes. Next, the onion. The finer the pieces, the better. So long as it wasn't overdone into mush.

The knife sang through sprigs of fresh herbs. They joined the other ingredients, along with a healthy dose of lemon juice and a sprinkling of salt. Then he stirred and gave the fresh salsa a taste.

"A little more salt."

After the adjustment it was perfect. He put a lid over the bowl and squeezed it into the refrigeration box.

An hour ago he'd started the blue crinkle corn dough. He uncovered it and split the warm ball into little rounds. One by one the rounds went into a press and became thin circles. These cooked in a hot skillet one minute per side. Branch brushed the tortillas with oil, cut them into triangles, and scattered them over trays.

The result were crispy, crunchy chips hot out of the oven. A delicious warm aroma filled the kitchen.

He headed to Cooper's place with the food in tow. Troll Village was as hectic as it always was on a major holiday. Amidst the gaggles of children, confetti, and games, Poppy stood at the foot of Harper's face-painting booth giving direction to volunteers. She excused herself for a minute when she noticed him.

"Branch! I was going to come get you." She eyed the wheeled cooler he had.

"That's okay. I have plans this time."

"You do?" Poppy said, surprised. He'd taken the initiative on a festival without her.

"Yep, going over to Cooper's."

She gasped. "That is a huge deal. I am so jealous of you right now. Agh! Oh, well, have fun then!"

Before she could bound back to organizing, Branch nabbed her hand. "Wait! Promise me you're not going to work the entire holiday this time?"

Poppy gave his grip a little squeeze and let go. "Normally I'd say no-can-do, but you know my dad. There's no way I'd get out of Family Day with him and the rest of the crew."

Satisfied with that answer, Branch watched her run back into the fray. Only because he was looking did he catch the glint of a fragment nearby as it passed from one set of hands to the other.

It was a heart piece.

The recipient of the golden half-heart placed it together with a piece of the same color, making the jewel whole once more. He put the heart back in his hair. The two trolls hugged and then happily went their separate ways. An end rather than a beginning.

Branch couldn't imagine being so casual about it. The thought of ever sharing love with… anyone... was making his face hot, so he turned his attention to navigating the crowd.

Even though he'd never been inside Cooper's house, he knew exactly where it was. The tall mushroom had a psychedelic purple and blue cap. It was the first residence on the edge of Misty Meadows. Music and casual conversation could be heard within.

Cooper greeted him with a hug. "Welcome to the party! Let me introduce you to everyone." The bumbly troll popped up beside each person as he named them. "This is my grandpa Rufus. Cousins Klaus and Ripley. My brother Tug Duluth. And you already know my other brothers, Biggie and Mr. Dinkles! Everyone, this is Branch. He's my crazy uncle and my dad. My dunkle!"

The family greeted him with enthusiasm. They were an eclectic bunch, but then, so was any troupe of trolls. Branch recognized Klaus from the party factory, Rufus was a farmer he'd talked to before, Ripley wore a wetsuit and her hair was a riotous mess, and Mr. Dinkles was a worm.

Cooper's "brother" Tug had skin like a hot orange sunset, her hair a windswept flame. Golden earrings glimmered when she laughed. A little lighter on the makeup and she'd be downright gorgeous.

"Biggie," Branch whispered. "Cooper does know Tug is a lady, right?"

"Y'know, I actually don't think he can tell the difference." Biggie shrugged. "Tug thinks it's great."

Cooper finished setting up the buffet. "Ok everyone, Cooper's family potluck is now in session! Dig in!"

Tug was the first to try Branch's cooking. Her eyes sparkled. "Branch, this salsa is amazing! And the chips somehow have so much flavor. I've never had anything like it."

That compliment felt really good. "Thanks. I made everything myself. Grew it too."

The chips and salsa disappeared quickly. He recognized the fuzzy feeling of happiness, seeing people enjoy something he'd made. It was reassuring to know his food was appetizing and not simply an acquired taste from eating his own cooking for so long. The evening was a joyful one, even if it felt a little empty without Poppy there. No one else seemed to notice.

He took another look around at the guests. It was true, then. Cooper didn't have any blood relatives either.

"How do you do it?" he asked Cooper later in the kitchen, when everyone else was distracted.

"Walk on four legs? Well, I—"

"No, no," Branch interrupted before a Cooper tangent happened. "How do you stay happy even though you're the only one left?"

His friend's ears flipped up. "Ohhhh. Well, I do this. I make my own family. But it's not like my old folks are gone; I'm just not great with directions. I got so turned around I went through that weird tunnel that led to you guys."

So there were other Coopers out there? For all Branch knew, those trolls could be halfway around the planet, right around the corner, or completely imaginary. This was Cooper, after all.

He looked down at the soapy water and the clean plate in his hands. Make his own family, huh. His heart thrummed faintly in his chest. Someday he'd be able to use his gem to call that feeling to the surface, if he wished.

When all was said and done, what did he want his life to be?

Maybe it was this: racing at full speed through the village square. The mushroom platform was empty, no queen, no morning pep talk. That's how bad the situation was. If he didn't run fast enough Troll Village was doomed.


	7. Party Factory

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poppy, do you have to push ALL of the buttons?

"This is _your_ responsibility, Branch!" Biggie huffed behind him.

Branch thought the shared coffee flower pot had emptied suspiciously fast. "How was I supposed to know she'd drink all of it!"

_Daaa na na na_   
_Na na, Na na_   
_Can't catch me!_

Poppy was impossible to catch on a good day. Even though they were running after her, she somehow raced circles around them at the same time. Maniacal gigging and shouts of "You're it! You're it!" swirled through the grass. Poppy was tagging every single troll in the village.

"You've created a monster," Guy said.

Behind them, a stampede of overjoyed trolls raced for the only thing that wasn't "it" at this point: the queen gaily flinging handfuls of glitter as she skipped ahead of the pack.

"She's headed for the forest!" Suki shouted.

If Poppy made it to the woods they'd never see her again. He'd chased her in there many times thinking he'd have the upper hand, but by some impossible wizardry she always disappeared. The only way to win was to get her before the tree line. He hadn't managed to do so yet, and it surely wasn't going to happen today. The distance was too great.

"We'll have to cheat," Branch said, ignoring the pained gasps of his friends. "Satin! Chenille!"

The sisters flung their hair out at the queen. She cartwheeled over the connected band. "Ooo, fun!" Poppy said, leaping over each new attempt to rope her in. She'd stopped running, but now Satin and Chenille were completely absorbed in the game of jump rope.

_Queen Poppy had a cuddlepup_   
_His name was Tiny Tim_   
_She put him in the bathtub_   
_To see if he could swim_

Branch watched in horror as, one by one, each of his friends got sucked into the the jumping line. "No, no, no! You guys!"

_Queen Poppy called her helper_   
_Queen Poppy called her friend_   
_Queen Poppy called the village grump_   
_To see if he'd attend_

That last line was him. The rhyme called to him. His legs moved on their own. What was happening? The fun, it was…

Irresistible.

"Aaagh!" Branch yelped, leaping over the twin's hair as it came 'round again. "Somebody sing me out of here!"

By the time they escaped, Poppy was long gone. Not everyone made it out alive. Suki fell asleep on the spot. The twins continued swinging the jump rope for each other. Biggie collapsed in the main square with dozens of other exhausted tag players.

The coffee monster blazed a trail of destruction everywhere she went. A ring of troll-troll-bergen gone off the rails was all that remained of Keith and his friends. Daisies and critters panted, songless, colors turned to neon with over-exuberant energy. A wedge cricket twitched in the grass. In the distance, music played faster and faster.

They made it too late. It was a massacre.

Every troll on the dance floor was down, danced within an inch of consciousness. Couples. Children. The elderly. Her own father. She'd spared no one.

Cooper removed his hat.

The trolls lay scattered with dazed smiles and a faint euphoric glow. It was difficult to look at. Stillness and silence contrasted with distant bursts of laughter from the onslaught happening at the marketplace.

Branch rolled up sleeves he didn't have. He gathered his courage and turned to those who remained. Smidge, Cooper, and Guy.

"I won't ask you to go in there with me. I don't know what happens next, if there's an afterparty or whatever, so I'll say it now: you guys have been the best friends a troll could ask for."

"...What are you going to do?" Guy asked.

"Make more coffee."

The four of them ran for the market. It was chaos. Glitterball balloons shooting through the air. Trolls on the ground, covered in splattered silver. On the other side of fabric canopies they could see it: the pink kraken of death advancing down the aisle, tendrils lashing glitterballs in all directions.

Fellow trolls turned against each other in the pandemonium. Anyone and everyone became a target. Smidge stood her ground to give them a chance to escape, and soon she was buried in a fountain of glitter. Branch couldn't look back. A sting erupted on his shoulder where a balloon burst, and the ricochet of giggles around the booths made it hard to focus. He lost track of Guy and Cooper. A shadow loomed behind him, something hyper and pink.

"Oo Oo Oo, Branch, I can't believe you're here, I mean, I thought this would be a little too intense for you but look at you! I'm so proud of you, out here playing with everybody else instead of hiding in your bunker. Gosh, today is so amazing. I feel amazing! You're amazing! And you've been glitterballed by the way. I've hit you like, twelve times. AND I tagged you earlier. How are you even still standing? Wait, do you think we're still playing tag? Because we're not. If you tag me now it doesn't count," the thing said.

Suddenly it pounced on him. It sat down, and he couldn't leave. "I just realized I have no idea what your ticklish spot is. Every troll has a ticklish spot. If you tell me what it is I won't tickle you. Nothing to say, huh? How unlike you."

What?

Next thing he knew, he was chuckling as little pink wisps brushed at his nose, his ears, his cheeks, and under his chin.

"Nope. Nope. Nope. Hands, maybe? That's weird but could be. Nah, not those either. Feet. Legs. Oh, I know. Of course. Of course it would be that, silly me."

Wriggling fingers dug into the sides of his vest.

The world exploded in stars.

"Oh my gosh, Branch, you have the best laugh ever. I love your laugh. You should do that more often. Wait, I want to hear it again."

The monster attacked and he burst into a joyful fit, rolling around on the ground, kicking his legs. He was a goner. This was it. The end.

Over the drone of glitterball warfare he heard Cooper come to the rescue. "Poppy! Joy ride! JOY RIDE!"

The pink thing immediately left him. He scrambled to his feet and ran, looking back once to witness Cooper sacrifice himself on behalf of the mission.

Branch leapt over the coffee bar. He rifled through the booth and worked the machines with wild abandon. One pot. Couple shots of espresso. Handful of sprinkles, why not. He dumped ice cubes in so it wouldn't burn his tongue. Cream and sugar. Shook it up. What else was in here? Bits of peppermint, chocolate syrup, whipped cream on top. Don't get too crazy. Don't wanna overdose. Safety first, insanity second. Oh, were those honeyflowers?

He hid behind the counter and waited for the effects to kick in.

The market was an apocalyptic wasteland when he left.

He barrel rolled into Poppy first chance he got. The two of them crashed through the cake decorating display, knocking over several of the cakes in the process. Poppy jolted to her feet in less than a second. "Rrrgh, Branch! I was in the middle of decorating those."

Her mood flipped positive when she heard the hyperactivity in his voice.

"Poppy! Poppy! I just had—"

"Uh-huh?"

"—the best idea."

Her excitement ramped up. "Oh my gosh."

"What if we go to the party factory—"

"Oh yes, I'm so there! Let's go right now. They have SO many fun things."

He raced ahead of her and burst through the party factory's double doors. The trolls inside stopped working and production came to a halt.

"Aw yeah!" Branch yelled. "Forced vacation everybody right now go home!"

Maybe it was the frantic way he said it, or the pink terror rushing up behind him, but Sky Toronto took one look and said, "Yep. Looks like we're done here for today."

Branch couldn't stop laughing. It scared everyone out of the party factory rather quickly. He grabbed Poppy's hand and dragged her over to the confection conveyor belt. "Okay you gotta try this," he snickered. "Get on the belt. What do you want, glitter, frosting, sprinkles?"

"All of it! Do all of it!"

He flipped the switch and ran down the line, decorating her with everything he could get his hands on. Poppy came out the other end coated, clothes and all, in a layer of purple glitter sugar. She had rainbow sprinkle freckles. Haphazard handfuls of chocolate chips and sugar stars were everywhere, as were the swirly drizzles of blue icing. He'd drawn furious pink frosting eyebrows over her real ones so that, combined with her nuclear smile, she looked like a serious hazard to every ticklish spot in a twenty-foot radius.

An icing rose sat atop her nose and she kept trying to reach it with her tongue. Her eyes crossed while she did it. Those angry frosting eyebrows up above. It was so silly. She was so silly, and fun, and he knew now, they could run through the factory like frenzied cuddlepups all day, roll in mud, get covered in leaves and sticks and confetti, be absolutely worn out and frazzled, and she'd still be pretty.

"Haha, Branch, why are you looking at me like th— Oh. My. Hugs. The ball pit," she gasped, looking over his shoulder.

The coffee was really riding him now. He raced around the ball pit because he couldn't stay still, and also because Poppy was in the sea of spheres, swimming and hiding in them, trying to pelt him as he dodged. He swept up a wave of balls and returned fire, sending her flailing back under the ocean. This was fun. She had his ankles. She was pulling him under. Oh, frosting, this was fun, and he'd confined her in the party factory because that was the only thing he could think to do that wouldn't make her mad at him, and he was stuck here now as the troll who was going to keep her occupied, and when was the next hug time because he wanted one, and this was a terrible idea, what had he been thinking.

"Branch, get back here!"

"NO! I'm not wearing that!"

He huddled up in the rafters, packed as tight as he could get into the corner so she couldn't reach him with the banana costume.

Soon they were running down the hall, and Poppy sprung the trap he'd made, and jelly beans scattered everywhere.

"Candy traps?! You monster!" she shouted. He slipped and scrambled over the beans, turned the corner, and dove into a pile of confetti to hide.

He couldn't keep her from pressing all the buttons in the button room. "Poppy stop! We don't know what that does! No don't—" A ceiling compartment opened and small, fuzzy green creatures poured all over him, and the floor, and everything.

"Spideeeers!" Poppy roared with glee.

"Why is it spiders again?!" he screeched, grabbing one of the fuzzballs off his face. "Why is it always spiders?!"

They appropriated the boardroom. Poppy wildly scrapbooked with gift wrap and ribbons while he pulled out all of the markerboards, sticky notes, and charts, trying to convince her that a security fence around the troll tree was in fact a good idea.

"I'm just saying, if we dig a trench from here to here, with a spring-loaded base and a gear and crank system to reel it back in, it could be fully retractable. I was thinking pulleys, but, heh, you know, that amount of tension on the vines for prolonged periods of time could be a serious issue."

"No fence. Nuh-uh. Nope."

"What if I made it pretty?"

No response.

"What if I made it out of licorice?"

She looked up. "Black or red? Wait, never mind, don't even think about it. Hold still, darn it! I'm trying to figure out which color is closest." Her hair held multiple squares of paper against his arm. None of the colors quite matched his.

He was still focused on the fence. "How about I sweeten the deal… with these?" He dug into his inside vest pocket for the handful of black jelly beans.

Poppy's eyes narrowed. "You wouldn't dare."

She sensed him creeping around the long table through the piles of scrapbook shreds, and she bolted. He went after her. They ended up in Sky Toronto's office, Poppy behind the desk and him on the other side. They tried to fake each other out, but neither of them fell for it.

"C'mon Poppy, all you gotta do is let me build one measly defense system."

"Measly?! Around the whole tree? No way, buddy."

"What's that? You like black jelly beans?" He flicked one at her. She flinched, and he lunged over the desk.

He managed to get hold of her arm, but then realized he didn't have a plan past that point, and she was laughing and trying to get away. What did he think he was going to do here? Hug her? Hold her hand? Wrestle with her and press jelly beans to her lips? It all sounded good to him, but...

He let go and she ran away without looking back.

Not so much as a glance.

He sighed, dropped into Sky's chair, and swirled around aimlessly for a while.

They wound up sprawled out on cushions in the middle of the factory floor, the entire area sufficiently destroyed. Ground zero. It looked like the bunker the day he'd come back. Like some enterprising troll had stuffed a piñata with every party supply and a firework in the middle, then lit it up.

Crushing agony pressed at his temples.

"This headache is killing me."

"Stop talking," Poppy groaned face-first into the cushion.

"Don't think I'm gonna make it."

"Uuuunnngh. Branch. Stop."

He wanted to die. His head pounded, like someone put a knife through one ear and out the other.

"I'm so thirsty," came Poppy's muffled voice.

With a lot of pained grumbling Branch rolled over to his hands and knees on the hard floor, pushed himself up, and trudged off in search of water. They needed hydration and real food. A cold compress would be helpful but this wasn't the bunker he knew. Each labored step rained sprinkles and bits of frosting.

He would've dragged the water container back, but it scraped and the screeching stabbed his brain. He dropped it by the cushions and let the stack of disposable dishes clatter to the ground. At the noise Poppy pulled her ears down and growled. He nudged her cushion with his foot. She didn't roll over.

"Drink."

That got her to move like a snail. It was something.

The world dissolved into throbbing head pain. He was glad for the empty factory because he wanted nothing to do with trolls right now. He felt like snapping at everyone. Why hadn't they told him about Poppy and coffee? Was this their idea of a prank? He turned the temperature gauge on a candy boiler as high as it would go, pulled the frying pan from his hair, and put it against the machine. The clack made him wince.

"What're you doing?"

"Eggs."

They ate in silence. He drank two more cups of water and slumped into the big cushion on his side, miserable. The pulsing jab at his temples wasn't going to go away any time soon. He closed his eyes and heard Poppy mess around with the water container before she walked away.

After a few minutes she came back. She sat beside him, her weight settling into the plush fabric.

A cool, damp cloth settled over his forehead. He felt the refreshing temperature smooth out the creases and chase away some of the pain. The cold compress was everything he wished for, and she'd made one, without even knowing that was what he wanted.

Then her hands slipped into his hair. He went rigid. "Poppy, what are you doing?"

"Brushing your hair," she grumbled.

A little hair affection from a crabby best friend. Nothing to freak out about, not any different than having Smidge comb it. It was just gonna be Poppy this time, with a brush. Just Poppy. No big deal. May as well be giving a hair five or a hair shake.

At first he didn't feel anything because she gathered it up at the bottom so it didn't yank while she brushed out all the party debris. But then, she let go.

Long, slow strokes gently rolled over the top of his head. Each one slid all the way up with a soothing pull. A massage. This must be what a massage was like. Pleasant waves smoothed him out in a calming rhythm, nice and easy. He could feel himself sinking deeper and deeper into the cushion because it was so relaxing. Breath escaped in a lazy drawl. This felt really good.

She didn't tease him about being so tense all the time, or sing, or hum, or say anything at all. She stayed at his side and ran her brush through his hair, and that was the only sound there was.


	8. Strawberry Wildfire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the spirit of shorter chapters I broke this one into two. Personally I'm dissatisfied with diving into an episode this much, but it's a crucial turning point.

The caterbus fell through a wormhole and the five of them washed up here, on this island. It was 100% danger-free. Branch was just now realizing this. She'd never seen him so relaxed, though hair brushing was a close second.

"Alllllright," he said in a buttery voice.

"Now that you've proved this island is completely safe, what's next?" she asked.

He hummed, thoughtful. "Think I'll change my name. Branch is so rough and unbending, ya know?" He looked around at the jungle vines and palm trees. "Frond. Yeah. That's my name. Frond."

Branch was totally out of it. It was amazing. Had he ever felt safe in his entire life? She wasn't about to pass up this opportunity.

"Okay _Frond_ , I'm going to explore a couple more of these crazy plants."

Poppy ran to a nearby orange bellflower and smacked it. The plant's petals glowed and rang with a pleasant thrum like a tropical marimba. Thrilled, she jumped around bopping other bellflowers. Branch – Frond – did nothing to stop or warn her. He closed his eyes and enjoyed the melody. She could get used to this, oh yes.

Frond slid off his camouflage leaf vest and slung it over his shoulder. "Won't be needing this anymore. I'm gonna go lie on the beach." He headed back to the others with a wave. "Feel free to join me if you want."

Was she losing her mind? Poppy waited until he was out of sight and flopped down on the grass, laughing. "This is so weird," she said aloud.

Between Branch and Smidge she was never left in the wilderness unsupervised. She rubbed her hands together with glee.

A lot of singing and entirely too much nacho cheese dip later, Poppy rejoined the group on the beach. They lounged in the shade of a palm while Frond strummed a ukulele from his perch up above. A stark white shirt made him easy to spot. Even relaxed he wasn't about to run around shirtless. Cute.

Poppy soaked up the warm sun hoping he'd stay this way when they went home. No more traps, no more lectures, the arguments with Creek would stop, hugs would last as long as she wanted, the phrase "Do you have to do that right now?" wouldn't interrupt her scrapbook moments. Branch, er, Frond, could move into the village and that'd eliminate the long hike to see him. He'd make friends faster. Not being so grouchy, sarcastic, and paranoid couldn't hurt, either. Frond didn't seem to be any of those things.

But.

She shoved down the spark of confused emotion.

Think positives. When Frond came home his troll gem would bloom right away. Her mission to help him would be over and she could start on her Trollberg plans, kick some of her other ideas into high gear.

Thunder rolled in the distance, drawing attention to the overly humid air. A flash lit up the sky and her skin prickled. Dark clouds spilled over the horizon, black puffs tumbling over each other in a rush.

Frond looked at the approaching storm with his arms folded behind his back. He said it was fine. If it was bad he would definitely be freaking out. That's what he always did…

The winds picked up and a twisting funnel tore down the beach. Poppy's hair caught in the wind; she lost her footing. The whoosh flung her forward. Rain poured down and cold droplets battered her skin.

She directed everyone to the boat Branch had started building when they landed, before he'd calmed down. They were completely exposed with no shelter nearby. Getting back to the wormhole over the ocean before the body of the storm hit was the best option. She herded her friends to the makeshift ship.

Yellow, red, striped. No turquoise.

Poppy spotted the missing troll sitting Creek-like on the beach using the wind to kite his hair. She yelled at him to move but he stayed put, unconcerned. The howling rush drowned out whatever he was saying.

Poppy roared, "We have to go now!"

The storm ripped Frond off the ground and threw him face-first into the sand. He came up with a conch shell and blew on it, goofing around in the razor rain.

Poppy's temper snapped. Frond had been fun earlier. Now he was a nuisance.

She grabbed the carefree fool by the hair and dragged him down the beach. He folded his arms behind his head, lounging. "We're going on a cruise?" he asked.

She hurled him full force over the edge of the boat. Apparently she had to do everything around here.

"Unfurl the sail!" Poppy called to Cooper. The white fabric rolled down and revealed where Frond's shirt had come from. Everyone glared at the troll relaxing in the back of the boat. He couldn't have cared less.

Poppy huffed and went to the mast, flinging her hair up around the pole. It flared into a sail. They were on course for the wormhole, but she could feel Branch's half-finished ship sinking. Brutal rainfall drummed over the wood as the ocean poured in via open cracks. Through bangs plastered to her face she saw friends scurrying about the deck trying to block the incoming tide. It wasn't enough.

Cold water pooled around her feet. She could see the worried gazes of the trolls around her, looking to the queen for support, but they were sinking, she was sinking, and when the leader didn't know what to do, if no one else stepped up they all drowned. Needles of rain stabbed a chill down into the core of her being. It frosted over the hollow spot inside with painful icy shards, reminding her how desperately alone she was in this situation.

In that moment, she missed him.

She missed the troll who always had her back, even if he complained every step of the way. She missed the guy who followed her to Bergentown even though he was deathly afraid of bergens, the guy who climbed bird peak despite the fact birds terrified him, the guy who raced full throttle into danger every time someone was in trouble. The one who was a voice of reason when no one else wanted to be. Who suffered the same splitting headache right beside her and helped clean up the mess after.

She relied on him now. Probably too much. How had he weaseled his way so completely into her life? Agh, cupcakes.

Poppy turned. Branch was still sitting against the cabin. His smile was gone and the water lapped around him, but he hadn't moved. She didn't know whether he was toying with her or if the island had messed his head up. It didn't matter. She needed the real Branch, the one she knew and cared for, quirks and all.

Her hair pulled at the mast as she struggled against the wind and rain and water sloshing at her feet to reach him. Over the torrential roar she said she was sorry, tried to convince him to come back, took him by the shirt collar, put her hands on his shoulders, but the thoughts behind those calculating blue eyes were a mystery. Was this working?

"We need you," she said. "We need Branch."

It was too much. She couldn't have this conversation and also steer the ship. A powerful gale struck. All she knew was that her feet weren't wet anymore and her hair was free. Angry gray sea water spun beneath her. Then the water was everywhere.

Poppy broke the surface, gasping. Shark fins circled. She panicked.

Her friends were still on the sinking ship. She had to get back. Choking down her initial terror, she swam to the boat. Smidge hair-grabbed her as soon as she was in reach.

Of course Branch had dove over the railing in such a blind panic he'd missed the part where she swam back herself. Poppy sighed and said, "Help me pull him up, will you?"

Together they reeled in the lifeline Branch had tied around himself. Once he was back on board, Poppy had to know who she was dealing with. "Frond?"

"No. It's Branch." He smiled apologetically.

She'd never been so relieved. There was Branch, with his tools out, fixing everything and making it better. He moved through repairs in order of priority with absolute confidence, rapidly hammering pieces of wood into larger cracks and scraping tree resin over gaps. Drilling pilot holes and pulling handfuls of screws from seemingly nowhere, sinking one after the other into the frame, zip zip zip. He was so resourceful. She watched him work his magic, hardly aware she was bailing water over the edge.

Since when did relief feel so warm?

This… maybe they were spending too much time together. The queen shouldn't depend on one person to come to the rescue all the time. As for Branch, he'd said it himself: plenty of trolls in the troll tree. It'd be healthy for him to have other friends besides her and the gang. A little push and he might notice the connections he had with other people, might even find a troll or trolls to… be with… ugh, the ship's rocking must be making her seasick.

She hadn't meant for the subject to come up the way it did, but, well, moment of opportunity.

~~~~~~

Branch spent all afternoon tracking the lone growlbeast. It was getting too close to the village. At night most trolls would be safe up off the ground, but dusk was far too early for bed and most folks were still out and about. Fortunately the beast's path headed toward Misty Meadows. He could lay a trap for it there.

He crept back into the underbrush and headed the creature off. As he came to the open meadow he heard voices. Great.

Three trolls were setting up a moonlight picnic. Branch narrowed his eyes at the unwelcome neon magenta color. He hurried across the field.

"You guys need to get out of here right now. There's a growlbeast on its way."

Creek remained sitting, legs folded, fingers encircled in an O. He didn't open his eyes. "Branch, must you ruin everything?"

"This is not a trick, I swear," Branch insisted while Creek's friends backed away from the impending fight. "I need you to leave so I can catch this thing."

Creek opened an eye. "Not a trick? Like the time you needed rescuing at the waterfall."

"That was—"

"Or the time you single-handedly ruined an entire basket of Poppy's invitations?"

"I see what you're doing," Branch sussed through clenched teeth, "and if you don't move I'll drag you by the hair myself."

Creek sighed heavily and stood. "Fine. You want the view all to yourself, we'll find some other place to – merciful mantra!"

"Run!"

The four trolls darted for cover, the growlbeast's thunderous gait quickly closing the distance on open grass.

They hit the treeline at full speed. Branch couldn't get control of the situation with the beast breathing down their necks. It herded them up against a sheer rock cliff. There was nothing to hair grab to climb up, and the large predator blocked the way forward. It roared. The sound immobilized Creek's friends.

"It's going to swallow us whole!" Creek cried.

"Wrong!" he shouted back. "It'll chew us up first!"

Curse Creek for the distraction. The growlbeast's shadow fell over them. What was that high-pitched noise? Ah, yes, that was him. Screaming the same as everyone else.

The killing blow was cut short by a loud thump. The predator wheezed. Air cracked with a flurry of fur and hair. Branch opened his eyes to the sight of Poppy and Smidge fighting the hungry mass of claws and teeth.

He sobered up.

"Quick! This way," Branch said. Creek's friends ran along the cliff but Creek himself was paralyzed with fright. Branch grabbed the coward's wrist and flung him toward the escape route. He followed the group until they were out of the death trap, then turned to go back. The fight, however, was already over.

Poppy came out of the forest like a strawberry wildfire. Her flower headband was gone and muddy claw marks ripped over her torn dress. Beside her, Smidge's glare burned in frozen ice. One of Smidge's arms hung uselessly at her side.

"Branch!" Poppy barked. "A word."

Creek wasn't gloating. This was bad. Branch slunk over to the furious duo.

"Did you lead that growlbeast into the village on purpose?"

"No." He despised Creek, but he wasn't insane.

"These arguments with Creek need to stop."

It wasn't a request. This was an order. One he knew he wouldn't be able to follow. He was not about to tell The Queen that, though.

"The next time this happens, there will be consequences. Maybe being queen looks like all fun and games to you. Well, it's not. This isn't fun for me. When harmony falls so off key it puts people at risk I have to step in. It's about safety. I thought you of all trolls would understand that."

Branch was being annihilated. Even though he wanted to disappear into a hole and hide, he couldn't help but be amazed by how terrifying Poppy was in this moment.

Unbound by the tiara and disarrayed by the fight, her wild hair twisted with a life of its own. The molten lava rings of her eyes kept him pinned on a little island where there was no escape. Freckles glittered like knives.

She was beautiful.

He couldn't stop staring.

How had he ever doubted she'd be a competent queen? He wished he could send a picture of this moment back in time just to see the sorry look on his gray face. That poor fool thought he knew Poppy. He had no idea. None.

When she was finished dumping all the responsibility for Creek's friendship on him, she relaxed. "Branch, you're one of my best friends and I care about you so much, but tonight could've been avoided if you didn't argue with Creek about everything."

Logical.

"And," Poppy continued, not about to let him off the hook, "I can't hold your hand the whole way. I expect you to make some new friends on your own."

He rubbed the back of his head. "This is a lot to take in." Getting to know a complete stranger was a challenge. Getting along with Creek, impossible.

Poppy put a hand on his shoulder. "I believe in you."

After all the fire, her lovely smile was a treat. She believed in him? Fine. He'd prove he could do this troll thing just as well as anybody else. Maybe then she'd respect him, really respect him. Maybe she'd trust he was doing the right thing. Maybe she'd seek out his opinions.

Maybe she'd brush his hair again.

She said, "Now I have to check on the others. Why don't you take Smidge to wake up Dr. Moonbloom?"

Judging by the gruff way Poppy commanded Creek's name after that, more than one troll was getting their ears chewed off tonight. A vindictive grin crossed Branch's face.

The smile petered out. He didn't like the way Smidge was holding her arm as if it might fall off. They headed to the village together. Branch figured she was angry with him as well. "Sorry about all that," he said.

"Hearing you scream like a baby and seeing Poppy completely destroy you? I'd pay both arms to see it again."

According to Dr. Moonbloom, Smidge was lucky her shoulder would heal without surgery. She was still in for a few weeks of recovery.

The next day Branch set about fulfilling Poppy's request to make friends. He sat at a mushroom table in the marketplace coming up with strategies, sipping a tea.

Greeting the barista was a normal part of business. You couldn't get to know someone through everyday greetings. Was he supposed to go up to a random free troll and start a conversation? That seemed creepy. What if he asked to sit with the guy having a stoutberry juice at the table over there? No. He'd have to get up and move and it'd be weird. How did normal people do this?

In the end he decided to visit somebody he'd met before.

Tug Duluth's tour kiosk was open today. He waited for a lull in activity before walking up.

"Branch!" The bright troll threw her hands out with enthusiasm. "What new wonders are you ready to delight the village with next? Treacherous caverns? Haunted marshes? A candy mountain?" Tug pulled out a notepad and pen. "I am listening very closely."

He warned her about the growlbeast by Misty Meadows. He doubted it would be back, but they needed to keep an eye out. "Also, there's an unstable wormhole at the base of the lookoff. Do not go in there."

"And noted. And noted." She scribbled it down and looked at him expectantly. This was his chance. He rifled through his hair for the rolled up parchment.

"I do have something new, but here's the thing. Poppy says I have to make friends of my own, so…"

The tour guide burst into a jingle of Tug laughter. "Fun fact: we are already friends. So yes, I'll agree to that."

Branch felt silly for asking. He wondered if he had more friends than he realized.

He unrolled the map showing a route to the Fountain of Glitter, a place fairly close to the village, and pointed out potential dangers on the trail. A gentle male voice interrupted his explanation. "Excuse me, you're one of Smidge's friends, right?"

Branch let Tug have the map and stepped to the side to talk to this new lilac colored troll. "Uh. Yes."

"Oh good. I'm so glad I recognized you. Is she okay? I heard something went wrong. Ah, excuse me, where are my manners. Milton Moss."

"Branch." He shook the critternarian's outstretched hand. He remembered Smidge's crush but hadn't officially met him, per se. "Smidge needs to rest but she'll be fine."

Though she'd probably melt if she could see how worried Milton was right now.

"Do you think you could give this to her?" Milton offered a pink envelope. "Ah, it comes with a gift." He fumbled around in his hair.

Oooooo boy. Branch placed two fingers on the letter and lightly pushed it down. "Don't you think it'd be better to bring these yourself?"

"Me?" Milton blushed. "Oh, I couldn't. Smidge is so strong and independent. I doubt she'd want someone like me bumbling around. I just want her to feel better."

Branch regarded the pink envelope and the matching, carefully wrapped yellow and mint gift box. "Yeah. Deliver these in person. Trust me on this one."

Milton reluctantly withdrew the items. "If you're so sure, then may I be so bold as to ask which pod is hers?"

"Queen Poppy's, go down the path, left at the fork. Big yellow mint pod with pink spots. Triangular shaped peel-down door. Can't miss it."

Even he could see the hesitation in Milton's posture. If Branch didn't intervene there was a chance the gentleman would get cold feet. "You know what? I'll take you there myself."

And so he made two friends in one day. That'd show Poppy. Or at least it would, if he could get her attention. Ever since the island trip she'd been flighty, almost like…

Nah, Poppy didn't avoid people. That couldn't be it.

Could it?


	9. Applesauce

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Except for some tiny references to Trolls songs, all of the lyrics in this novel are original. I can sing the melody for each, but other than that I'm not skilled enough to turn my lyrics into complete tunes with multiple instruments.

Not a single Branch-Creek incident since the growlbeast. That was worth noting.

Poppy caught herself reaching for her hair. No! No scrapbooking.

She wiggled her toes. Her right ear twitched. A drab sigh escaped as she surveyed the ferns for the umpteenth time. She noticed she was breathing and it started to take effort. Nervous tension coiled up inside at the lack of singing or, really, anything.

She tried to stay still and ended up fidgeting with her bangs. Maybe a couple of cardstock cutouts. The scissors were toward the front. Ugh, no, stop.

She rubbed her nose and sighed again. Hopefully the sound of wooden wheels meant an end to this misery.

"Poppy? What are you doing out here?" Branch asked, confused.

"Being alone."

His eyes grew wide. "Are you okay?"

Finally she couldn't take it anymore. "Branch, this is SO boring. I don't get why you like alone time at all."

Branch always put effort into her suggestions, so it made sense to try some of the things he liked, to see if they were fun, to test her mettle if not. He enjoyed solitude so much there had to be something to it, right?

Nope. As expected, it was the worst. Taking a break, resting at home, going to the top of the tree to think, singing her way to Bergentown: fine. This? Awful. So dry and plain and ugh.

Bewildered, Branch released his grip on the cart handles. Empty crates stacked the inside. "Okay. So, you're alone. What are you working on?"

"Nothing. I've been standing here."

Branch snorted. "Well no wonder you're bored. Alone time doesn't mean do nothing, you know. Or did you think the bunker built itself?"

Poppy knew better than to respond to that. She had a very strong mental image of a gray troll standing in an underground cave, arms folded, staring into the middle distance. Sometimes sitting, but always with arms folded. She imagined that's what he used to do most of the time. A stony statue with no one to interact with.

These days she figured he spent solo time the same way, but with more color and less grumpiness. That is, when he wasn't doing survivalist chores. She looked at the cart.

He raised an eyebrow. "Seems like someone could use a lesson in isolation. C'mon. I'll show you."

"Uh, wouldn't that make your alone time together time?"

"Doesn't bother me."

Surprising, but okay. Branch was letting her encroach on his quiet space. It was worth taking the unusual offer, even if it meant breaking the win streak she had going. She'd wormed out of nearly every interaction with him so he'd focus on new friends. It was working, too.

Branch reorganized the crates and lashed them down again, making a nook in the front. "Get in the cart. I'll push you," he said in that sneaky way. "It'll be fun."

"Oh no, I know what you're up to. Is this some kind of trap?"

"Probably." Sardonic smile.

Cupcakes, she knew this was going to be a prank, he knew she knew, and he was also aware she wouldn't be able to resist the potential fun. Poppy narrowed her eyes, pursed her lips, and climbed into the front of the cart. Thanks to the crates she couldn't keep an eye on Branch, so she looked out over the front edge and watched the scenery. The back of the cart tilted up and off they went, sure and steady.

It was fun, darn it. And strangely… relaxing? The itch to scrapbook went away. Wooden floorboards calmly rumbled beneath her as she watched the forest slide by.

"I wouldn't mind a little music," he said.

Oh this was definitely a trap.

Okay then. Time for payback for the late nights chasing anonymous givers and growlbeasts. Poppy sat back against the crates so she could play. Surely he was expecting some upbeat tune about friendship. Well, he could have it. With extra sass.

_We don't finish each other's sentences  
_ _We don't see eye to eye  
_ _Nothing in common, don't have to try  
_ _It's a little bit funny 'cause though we never fight  
_ _I prefer to love and you prefer to bite_

_You and I  
_ _Make a pretty good pair I say  
_ _Dare I say  
_ _You and I  
_ _Make a pretty good pair_

_I wandered in the wild  
_ _You stayed safe and sound  
_ _Got a little lost, it's you I found  
_ _Going different directions caused us to collide  
_ _My right hand in your left hand, together side by side_

_You and I  
_ _Make a pretty good pair I say  
_ _Dare I say  
_ _You and I  
_ _Make a pretty good pair_

_When I'm looking up it's always  
_ _you who's looking down  
_ _One of us a sky to the other's ground  
_ _Maybe we are opposites, that's perfectly all right  
_ _I wake you up at morning and you keep me up at night_

_OH!_

_You and I  
_ _Make a pretty good pair I say  
_ _Dare I say_  
_You and I  
_ _Make a pretty good paaAAAAAHAHA_

Branch shoved the cart with all his strength, sending them careening down the hillside. Faster and faster, clutching the ukulele without any time to think, the cart tipping with sudden extra weight in back, incredible speed, the bottom of the smooth grassy slope rushing up. And, oh, gosh—

"Puddle! Puddle!"

She heard hair whoosh over the space behind her to protect the crates. But did it cover her too?

Of course not.

The tidal wave roared over the front edge, dousing her hair to toe. Muddy water wings spat up along the cart sides and sprayed droplets everywhere.

She gasped and shook herself off best she could, then went back to laughing. She was muddy, wet, and the stock ukulele was soaked. She jammed it back in her hair. The mess would dry off eventually.

"See?" a smug, mud-spotted Branch said. "I told you it'd be fun. Now help me with these apples."

He unloaded the crates while she used her hair to pick the palm-sized fruits. They weren't the fancy pretty apples like those near the village. These were wild, smaller, sometimes imperfectly shaped. It was going to take a while to fill all of the boxes.

"You learn a few tricks when you're on your own all the time," Branch said. He pulled himself up into one of the fruit trees. Blue hair spiraled around the trunk, creating a soft platform. He strolled over the treetop, grabbed a nearby bough with a free strand of hair, and started shaking it. All the ripe apples fell onto the cushion below.

Self-sufficiency. Independence. It was a quality he had that she was lacking, and it was fascinating to watch.

He wasn't on his own at the moment, though.

"Wait, I have an idea," she said. She pushed her hair up under his and created another platform. "I'll catch the apples and you shake."

A little bit of extra effort went into holding the apples he let go of. Branch raced a merry-go-round of hair around each and every tree limb. Then, he braced himself and tugged.

It was loud. All the leaves and boughs ruffling, creak-cracking. The whole treetop moved. A giant green pom-pom! Shake shake shake.

Too heavy, though, too many apples. She hadn't thought of that. Her brain squeezed with concentration and tension started to creep up the back of her skull. This was a recipe for hair strain, bruising all the apples, and receiving a lecture about her "crazy" plan. She grunted, one eye open, not sure she could lower the disc down the trunk without slipping up.

Sudden relief. Branch had his hair piled up under hers. "You okay?" he called down.

"Better now, thanks!"

A couple of hair slides later and all the crates were full, packed into the cart, and strapped down. Branch looked thoughtful. "That was way faster with two people. Thank you."

Today she followed him around for a change. It was enjoyable in its own unusual way.

He had a huge cauldron set up in the bunker, firewood stacked underneath. Glass jars and screw top lids lined the kitchen counter in neat rows. He adjusted the ventilation system and opened up a secret port in the ceiling she had no idea was there. Daylight flooded down.

"You're going to light a fire in your bunker?"

"Dirt floors. Very practical. I could have a fire any time, any where. It's the smoke that's the problem."

He gave her an apple corer and three bins, one for the slices, one for the cores, and one for the funny shaped apples that didn't fit the corer. The skins stayed on. More nutrients that way.

Branch disappeared for a while as she worked. Place apple, push down. She shucked the core into one bin and the slices in the other.

She was starting to understand now.

Place apple, push.

What Branch's life must have been like.

Apple, push.

It was time consuming to do this alone. All the jars stacked up in the bunker's storage area full of bizarre foods no other troll would eat. Strings of dried veggies, fruits, herbs. The spinning wheel and balls of raw fiber. Piles of building materials. Even the sweat supply. Did he still keep that around?

Apple, push.

A rhythm settled into the movements. She could think, if she wanted. Or she could simply do the same task over and over. It was mindless. Meditative.

And lonely. It would be if Branch wasn't there, pouring water into the cauldron and stoking the fire. They were each other's company right now.

So for all those years before she'd known him, this is what he did. Survived. Kept his mind occupied with repetition so he could feel nothing. Barely any visitors. At least now when he had guests he usually let them in, but even so, most of the time he was out here by himself.

It made sense that he talked to Gary. It made sense in a really sad way. He probably _was_ lonely and wouldn't admit it.

She worried about him. Because if she knew anything about Branch, it was that he wanted to be listened to, valued, and included. Not isolated and shut out. So what was he doing living so far away?

She imagined that when she left, his smile faded into abandoned sadness. That he buried himself in this hollow fortress wanting something better, not knowing how to reach for it, not willing to expose emotional weakness to ask for it. The thought of any troll separated from the rest, curled up and alone in the dark crying for help, was unbearable. Rainbows, rainbows, rainbows, think about rainbows.

"Are you really happy down here?" she said.

"Why wouldn't I be?"

"Because sometimes you say stuff you don't mean. Like you said you didn't want to be happy, or relax, or sing, or hug. And you did! You did want that. So how do I know if living in the bunker isn't one of those things? When I picture you down here all alone, it hurts. And, and…"

"Woah, Poppy. Hey."

Branch was standing on a stool so he could reach the top of the cauldron. He was smiling, but his expression was worried, tense. "Do I look unhappy to you right now?"

"Kinda?"

Something about that amused him, since the stress lines lightened. He stepped off the stool.

"The bunker's not pretty and cute, but it's me. I like it. And you know how I am about safety. This is the only place I really feel that way. Can you even imagine me living anywhere else? Me? In a pod?"

He'd cover it in thorns and alarms, no doubt.

Branch took her hands, ignoring the sticky apple juice.

"Trust me," he said, looking into her eyes with honesty. "I'm happy here."

His gaze slid to the floor and their joined hands dropped a little. "Is that… okay? Being a troll is great and all, but I can't change who I am."

"Of _course_ that's okay," she said, so racked with regret for the secret moment of weakness she'd had that day on the island, thinking it would be easier if he were different, that she almost jolted away from the hands holding hers, the ones seeking acceptance.

"I'm so sorry if I made you think you needed to change your personality. I just get a little excited when you let anyone see the real you. Y'know, the one that gives hugs, enjoys singing, keeps us safe. Even if he goes overboard sometimes." Her mouth quirked at the thought of the most recent Branch-related freakout. Shoes. Shoes for all the trolls.

She said, "So if the bunker is where you want to be, good."

The last bit was hard to vocalize because it was the wish she'd had from the beginning. Her voice grew thick. "I want you to have a happy life like the rest of us."

Branch's grip tightened. "That's… haha. I'm glad you didn't give speeches like that before, or I doubt I'd have been able to resist."

He looked up and his smile, this time, was genuine. She warmed to it immediately. There was something so special about getting this kind of reaction out of him, the way the wide line of his mouth pushed up his cheeks enough to accent the creases around his eyes. Sky blue irises flicked over her face, searching. Soft fire crackled in the background.

One of his thumbs tentatively rubbed back of her hand.

Suddenly she couldn't hold his gaze. He stopped moving his thumb and let go.

Branch picked up the bin of apple slices and took it to the cauldron to dump it in. She pushed the corer through another apple. "I totally made speeches like that before," she said, scrambling for familiar banter territory. "You never bothered to listen."

"Because having glitter up my nose was not distracting at all."

"Hey, I gave you glitter instead of hugs. Be thankful."

Branch stirred the cauldron for a while. The slices in the freshly emptied bin started to pile up again. Place apple, push.

"Poppy, is there a reason you've been avoiding me lately?"

"Wh– uh, no."

Leave it to Branch to pitch the conversation right back into awkward and be oblivious to it, stirring the pot all casual-like over there. Wait, no, she was the one being weird. All he'd done was move one thumb. What was so awkward about that? Nothing. This wasn't awkward at all! Regular Poppy Branch together time. Away from all the trolls. In the bunker. Was she _sweating_ over this? It was kinda hot with the fire and the constant apple splitting.

"I mean I'm not avoiding you," she said. "I'm giving you space. So you can meet other trolls."

"That's fine. But maybe next time I want to talk to you, could you not insist there's a cake decorating emergency? Because I asked around and those only happen on Trollsday."

Cupcakes.

"And don't bother with those other excuses either," he said. "I know all about those too."

Frosting.

Wait. Was he…?

"Are you saying you want to spend more time with me?" she asked.

Silence.

"Aww. You do. Admit it! You miss me."

Branch made an annoyed grumble.

"Saaaay it."

"No! Ugh. I just don't like being brushed off, okay?"

Sure. Sure that's what this was all about. She grinned.

Together they finished coring and slicing the apples and got them into the cauldron.

"And now, we wait," Branch said.

"Awesome! So are we going to play a game? Scrapbook? Share our deepest, darkest secrets? Because I have one I've been _dying_ to tell somebody."

"Nope, you wanted to know what alone time was, so now you're going to find out. Don't make that face. You haven't even tried it."

Branch led her to the elevator, down to the bottom floor, and along a hall. A roughly carved passage hidden between a tangle of roots was their destination. She hadn't been here. This was exciting.

"Watch your step," he said.

The tunnel lacked the fine polish of the bunker's main areas, but it wasn't long. It served only one purpose: to reach the underground hot spring. The earthy cavern gave the pool the appearance of molten chocolate, an occasional bubble popping on its surface.

A wide stump where a root was cut away served as a table. On it were snacks and a water pitcher, a couple of illustrated books, puzzles, a stereo, the box of scrapbook supplies she'd brought over in case the urge ever struck him, and an assortment of other activities. A clean, fuzzy green robe in Branch's size hung from a root hook on the wall.

He'd snuck off earlier to set this up for her. Her chest tightened, noticing the attention to detail in all his choices. The snacks were things she liked.

"Have fun," he said, waving on the way out.

And then he left.

He left her there.

Well, okay. She emptied her hair, took her clothes off, and stepped into the—

Ohhhhhhhhh this was magnificent.

How could he keep something like this all to himself?! What a hoarder! If the village knew about the hot spring they'd be thrilled. With more trolls, he could have a spa party. Everyone would want to come.

Oh.

Oh.

Right.

Poppy sank into the water and blew bubbles. Steam misting over the surface softened her skin. She sighed.

For a while she just existed.

Her thoughts drifted.

She rested against one of the rocks in the middle of the spring and stared at her hands under the water. A little while ago they'd been cupped in his, a snug fit, the way his fingers wrapped around. Surprisingly soft too, for someone who did so much manual labor. By closing her eyes she could piece together the feeling between all the little exchanges and dances. And, since she was thinking about it, she tried to recall that first touch. The one where he'd turned her head to get her attention while he sang.

Her fingers feathered under her chin. It would've been something like that. She didn't remember the feeling. She'd been lost at that point.

That small gesture was the one that changed everything. Until then she'd been careful to not give physical affection without permission, no matter how much she wanted to. The hug after his grandmother's story had been a rare exception. If anything, it was Branch who reached out to drag her around, shush her, steal things out of her hair, catch her before she ran off.

Her smile grew wider.

Once he opened up to troll touch, she hadn't held back. Much. They'd had their hands on each other's faces for silly reasons, hair on or around each other sometimes for no reason at all, the basic buddy things trolls did.

This felt good. This felt like something. But it was scary too. She didn't want to ruin it by thinking. Didn't want to examine and find nothing inside.

Water slipped through her fingers as she lifted them out of the pool.

It was strange, really. This quiet moment without uneasiness. No need to sing or stressbook. When the lack of noise from other trolls became oppressive, she turned on the stereo and brought over a bowl of treats.

While it would've been super rude to have a splash battle at the village hot springs where everyone was relaxing, here, she could totally do it. She tried to make as big a wave up the side of the cavern as possible, laughing as the increasingly large splashes slammed down and upset the whole hot spring. "Don't worry, I'm okay!" she yelled out at the tunnel just in case, still splashing.

So this was alone time.

She didn't feel alone, though. Because she knew Branch was upstairs, and she was pretty sure if she made enough noise he'd come down to check on her, or cheer her up, or hold her hand, or do anything she asked – so long as he got to grumble about it first.


	10. Birds of Paradise

Poppy was having the best time watching Branch try to be a mom.

Three weeks ago he stumbled on a trio of bird eggs right as they hatched. The little chicks hadn't left his side since, even though she was certain he had tried everything to escape. When nothing worked he'd taken her solution: raise them.

She flipped to the bookmarked page in the scrapbook and read: "Birds of Paradise carve nests out of trees using their beaks. The nests provide shelter and protection from predators. As these birds are builders, they learn to carve even before they can fly."

Branch's hand was over his mouth in thought while the three yellow balls of fluff played nearby. The chicks' first feathers were growing in. "So," he said, "I should bash my head against a tree until they figure it out."

"Um. No. Maybe use a tool?"

"I'll be honest: taking care of them is exhausting. Hitting my head on a hard surface sounds great right now."

Over the following week Branch continued to rear the fledglings, every so often coming to her for help. She was at scrapbook club when he burst into the pod in a desperate rush. "Poppy! Come quick!" His tone was so urgent she dropped everything and left immediately.

One of the young birds had its wing tucked at an odd angle, crying. Branch knelt by its side. "He fell and I, well, I don't know what to do!"

She was alarmed. Branch should've gone to Milton for this. But as she looked at the bird she noticed its wing wasn't actually bent. It was clutching its feathers against itself. The fall had been scary, not a major injury. What it needed was to be comforted.

The truth was she felt as lost as Branch did. So, she copied what she'd seen the parents in the village do; how her dad used to soothe her after a scare.

Poppy took a knee beside the bird and stroked its feathers. "There there, you're okay. I'm right here. Can you show me your wing?"

The paradise bird's keening slowed to tweets of sorrow. It slowly extended the hurt wing. The movement didn't bring new pain and the feathers were unharmed. "See?" Poppy said. "It's only a boo-boo. A magical kiss will make it better. Mwah!"

She gave the wing tip an exaggerated kiss, put her fingers to her lips, and blew the kiss far away. "Goodbye boo-boo!"

The fledgling peeped in amusement. Poppy said, "Now go get a hug from mom."

The relief on Branch's face was clear as day. He spread his arms and the little bird hopped right into his hug. The other two birds pushed up against him wishing for affection too. "Poppy makes everything better, doesn't she?" Branch said quietly.

She wasn't sure she was supposed to hear that. Something inside her was twisting, melting.

"But me? I'm just a big tickle monster. Grr!"

The birds squirmed and squeaked with glee as Branch tickled the one in his arms and used his hair to reach the other two. The yellow fluffs wriggled free and tumbled over each other in a race to flee the growling, finger-wiggling troll.

Branch pretended not to notice where they hid, turning his back so the birds could ambush him with a tickle attack. He rolled, laughing, under a barrage of soft golden feathers. "Save.. me.. I can't… breathe!" he said word by word in gasps.

She couldn't handle this. It was too adorable. It hurt. This feeling, she shouldn't be feeling it.

Each day the birds grew bigger and more independent under Branch's guidance. Where once he suffered their presence with bland patience, now he enjoyed it. The look of pride and excitement he had any time the birds accomplished something new was precious. When they left he was going to be devastated.

No matter how time consuming the youngsters were, it didn't deter Branch from going to the market to pick up a mini birthday cake for Gary-the-remote-control. Sitting at her lunch spot, she hid her smile while he tried to protect the cake from three overly eager birds. He had the dessert in one hand, Gary in the other, and hair everywhere else. What an oddly cute family.

Branch would make a good parent. He was reliable, supportive, fun, affectionate, and enjoyed teaching. A partner would help relieve the stress and balance out some of his more compulsive traits. Really, though, he'd been doing fine on his own with the birds. They weren't as demanding as a trolling, but still.

He treated Gary like an honorary child sometimes. Did he want kids?

Bella Brightly brought Branch a box for the cake so he could make it back to the bunker in one piece. Now that his hands weren't full he began a song and strolled off, birds in tow. Seeing the happy group brought on a strange combination of pride and feeling left out. It wouldn't be long before her friends who wanted families started them.

"I don't think she's heard anything we told her," Satin said.

"Poppy, are you done watching Branch yet?" Chenille added.

"Wha–huh? Yeah. Sorry. Okay, yes, the parade costumes." She flipped through the design sketches. Since the traditional costumes had started to, well, decompose, new ones were long overdue. The twins' modern interpretations were a sight for sore eyes.

"When are you going to start dating again?" Chenille said out of nowhere.

"Um. Not any time soon. I'm focusing on being a good queen right now."

Satin frowned. "You used to love romance. You haven't let yourself do anything since Creek and I think someone new could put the spark back in your scrapbook. What if we set you up on a fun, romantic date? Just to try it?"

"A good lover makes you forget the meh ones," Chenille said point blank.

"Thanks guys, but I can't. I'm not ready to love again." Literally. A broken heart could heal, but a missing one? No troll had lost theirs before. As much as she loved her overly-eager people, she didn't care to find out what would happen if this secret got out. Being buried in homemade soup any time she got sick was all the love she'd ever need – roses on top of that was too much.

"There's really no one you have feelings for at all?" Satin pressed.

Poppy had lots of feelings for lots of people. For example, this conversation was making her itch to run for company who wouldn't ask about romance. Cooper or Branch. That felt safe. Her hands were a flurry of colored paper and scissors, cutting out all the tiny shapes necessary for papercraft fireworks. Lots and lots of tiny shapes.

"Nevermind!" Satin piped. "Let's talk about costumes. What do you think of rainbow feathers? Chenille wants white, but I think rainbow is way more exciting."

~~~~~~

A fuzzling delivered the morning's schedule instead of Smidge. Curious, Poppy squeezed time in to find out where Smidge was. She asked around and discovered Suki was also missing. Suki had taken the woofer bug into the woods headed toward the lookoff.

Poppy followed the forest path out of Troll Village. Faint, broken sections of music floated through the forest. The song would start, stop, and begin again. It was coming from a clearing further out. She emerged from the trees and looked down from the top of the hill.

Out in the clearing Branch had one foot forward in a deep bow to Smidge. His arms were flared wide open like wings. The three juvenile birds stood in a line further back, watching the two trolls. Suki sat atop her woofer bug waiting for a cue.

Branch straightened and held his hand out to Smidge. "Offer them your, er, wing. If they don't want to dance they'll decline."

Smidge shook her head. "No thanks," she said.

Branch continued. "But if they're interested…"

This time Smidge took Branch's outstretched hand in hers.

"And now it's the steps you know. One. Two. Three. Four." Branch led Smidge through the simple square box step. "You won't always lead, but when you do make sure to cue your partner. So a twirl, pull just a little closer before you guide the spin."

In slow motion Branch wound up the twirl, then released one hand so Smidge could follow through. When they faced each other again they rejoined hands and seamlessly stepped back into the box step.

Suki started the music. In front, Smidge and Branch bowed, looking silly with their arms out. The birds copied them. What seemed ridiculous on a troll was wonderful for wings. The wide stance displayed rows of confident bright feathers.

Branch and Smidge danced, fluidly moving around the front as the birds practiced their footwork, looking to the pair whenever they lost the rhythm.

Poppy's feet had a mind of their own. Her legs would carry her right down the slope if she didn't pay attention. Patience. Dancing was more than a fun activity for Birds of Paradise. It was how they found mates. If she was going to make an entrance, it better be a good one.

She got excited. She hadn't done this in a while. Shoot. Satin and Chenille were right. Since the heartbreak Poppy hadn't cut loose a single time, and now here it was: the perfect opportunity opening up before her like a storm cloud for the sun.

Branch put his back to the bluff while he gave the birds new instructions. "Some birds will be more assertive than others. They might ask you to dance. When that happens," he turned.

The open hand offering a dance was pink. Branch flinched a few steps back. Before he could recover Poppy pointed at the DJ. "Suki! Hit me with a tango!"

A dramatic drum roll stabbed the air and introduced a low, suspenseful beat. Poppy circled Branch, her steps matching the tango's dangerous undertone. Her hapless teal friend was alarmed, but there was no escape. Poppy's gaze never left him. Violins hummed stronger, louder.

The music slammed down with a powerful stroke. She leapt back. Hair whipped along her arms, flaring into wings, each carefully-crafted feather spread wide and tall for display. Then she folded the wing tips in to hide herself.

The tango's alluring rhythm pulsed. She swayed her hips to the sound, letting her fingers trail from her lips down her neck and chest while the wings unfurled one feather at a time to reveal what she was doing.

Everyone stared.

That was the point.

Tango was Guy Diamond's specialty and she'd learned a lot watching him, dancing with him. Poppy whirled and posed, strutted and splayed her feathers. The first part was all about attracting a partner. The second part, well, that had a totally different purpose.

Seduction.

Poppy advanced on Branch in confident strides, one foot in front of the other. Her wings flounced with each step. Branch didn't run. Couldn't move. Poppy's fiber feathers enclosed around him, gently pulling him close as she took the last few steps to erase the gap. In one fluid motion she withdrew her wings, slid an arm around Branch's waist, and scooped up one of his hands in hers. Now they were poised for the steps he'd taught earlier. She led him into that same routine, beaming a cheeky grin. Once Branch realized she wasn't going to go any further down the tango path he relaxed.

The birds chittered a melody of laughter after witnessing their parent get sucked in to Poppy's performance. They mimicked some of her moves with wild displays of neon wings and tail feathers, inventing their own crazy poses – all while following the foot patterns they'd learned from Branch.

"Smidge!" Poppy called. She gave Branch a whirl and sent him into Smidge's arms. The two picked up the dance without missing a beat.

Poppy raced back to town for Aspen Heights' half birthday party, a hop in her step and happiness in her soul.

~~~~~~

He had to say goodbye. He couldn't do it alone, so he invited the person who'd kept him sane through it all. Sane in one way, anyway. She was starting to drive him crazy in another.

Poppy stood back while Branch gave last minute tips to the young birds at the edge of the lookoff. Yesterday they were chicks and today they were taller than he was, hair included. And now they were gone. Three dots on the horizon.

He hadn't named them. Didn't want to get attached. He pretended he didn't care and that they had been terrible pests like all other birds. But he knew how he really felt. Poppy probably saw right through him, too. She usually did.

The walk to the river beach afterward was not a silent one for long. Poppy was trying very hard not to look at him, but her eyes kept darting in his direction. That, on top of the frightening grin, could only mean she was dying to say something she thought would bother him.

He waited until she couldn't contain herself.

"Branch, have you ever thought of having kids?"

The question didn't scare him, but hearing it from Poppy made his heart skip a beat. Something to file in his growing list of concerns about their... friendship. She didn't mean it as anything other than an innocent question, he was sure. It wasn't like a troll needed a partner to have kids. As long as you had a heart you could do it. Plenty of single parents in the village.

"Maybe."

"That's basically a yes coming from you."

"Well, what about you?" Branch shot back. Poppy struck him as the family type, but he'd never heard her talk about it.

She didn't answer right away. Her eventual words were careful. "I want to, but I can't."

"Because you're busy being queen?"

She stifled a chuckle. "No, it's not that."

"Then…?"

Poppy shrugged, smiling. Then she changed the topic.

Now he was sure of it. There was something she wasn't telling him. Maybe it was none of his business. Tough. If she was going to get flirty with him, he reserved the right to be protective of her. Whatever was troubling his favorite smile would have to face him eventually.

He paced around the empty nest of a bunker, battling between investigating Poppy's secret or dealing with his personal problems. On his own he'd been unable to learn anything about his family. He needed to ask for help if he wanted to move forward, probably from an older troll like King Peppy. But did Branch really _need_ to ask for help? Couldn't he do this on his own? It'd be better if nobody knew. Besides, there were a multitude of other distractions available to get wrapped up in. Such as Poppy.

She always got quiet when it was about the future. That made him nervous. Was she okay?

There was one troll who might know.

Branch selected a thicker stick from the kindling cubby. There was no particular reason he needed the stick. It just felt like the right thing to have. Fine slivers of wood fell to the floor, one at a time.

A few questions. That's all it would take. He wasn't going to lose his temper. He wasn't going to get jealous. He wasn't going to consider how many times he'd heard that particular name over that particular journey. Rough bark dug into his palm with each scrape.

He wasn't going to think about how long Poppy stood at those cage bars looking out at the empty kitchen. Or when she turned around and said it was a trick, a brilliant double cross that would get everyone out. Or how it had taken the entire village pouring in for her to finally, _finally_ accept the betrayal. Only then did her shatterproof spirit break.

No. Branch wasn't going to think about that. He swept up the wood shards, careful to get all of them, and tipped the dust pan into the fireplace. He wasn't going to think about it. Flames consumed the pointiest stick he'd ever whittled. Not thinking about it. He was a regular troll who enjoyed singing and dancing and sometimes hugging certain people in specific, controlled situations. He could do this. A few questions.

Confident, he left the bunker. It was only safe to go to the waterfall after dusk. He was well inside the danger zone today.

He cleared a path through the raked sand. He didn't disturb the designs, but he did throw away the smooth, purposefully placed stones. The shore needed to stay clear of trip hazards. That was the rule.

Creek was visibly irritated by the time Branch reached him. The zen troll no longer bothered to hide his feelings when they crossed paths. Branch took pride in that fact, even though he knew he shouldn't.

As expected, Creek moved over the personal space boundary. Annoying. "Come to ruin the fun with your rules and regulations again, mate?"

"Oh yeah, grumpy old Branch taking the boulders off the beach so nobody cracks their head open. What a terrible guy."

This was off to a great start, as usual. Branch had broken their silent agreement to stay away from each other by coming here. He'd better make it count. "Look, you know I don't want to be here, but I need your help with something," he grumbled.

Creek's dispassionate frown didn't change. "I'm listening."

"You know Poppy better than anyone. Is she hiding something from us? Is she ill? Hurt?"

"Knew," Creek corrected. He pushed the back of his rake into the beach, erasing lines drawn in the sand. "I knew Poppy. Branch, mate, you worry far too much."

"But she sometimes acts like she won't live to see thirty."

"Maybe she's learned to be pessimistic like you." Creek continued to smooth out the beach, acting like he had nothing to do with this. He did. Oh, he did.

"Or _maybe_ the person she loved stabbed her in the back," Branch spat. "Seriously, the whole time we were together she wouldn't shut up about you!"

Creek whirled on him. "Oh yeah? Well, the whole time _we_ were together, she wouldn't shut up about _you!_ "

The rake fell to the ground.

Creek seethed. "Do you have _any_ idea what that's like? To see the person you're with hurt by someone else over and over again? Any idea at all?"

The wound tore open and bled poison. Branch scanned Creek from head to toe. His words were ice. "You know what? Yeah. I think I do."

They had nothing left to say to each other. Branch couldn't remember why he'd come here. "Stay out of my neck of the woods," he warned. As he left he didn't bother to avoid the sand drawings, cutting a line right through the delicate art.

"The woods don't belong to you!" Creek yelled after him.

~~~~~~

Poppy had told Branch and Creek to get along. She'd told them. She'd even given another chance, right here, right now, but the two trolls were at each other's throats within seconds of that warning. Nope. No more.

While they argued she tied their hair together and doused it with maximum hold hairspray. She'd asked her dad how to end feuds between trolls. This "befriending bow" was his response. The knot couldn't be undone without her. If they pulled too hard on it, it'd become permanent.

The befriending bow worked.

It worked too well.

Branch and Creek wouldn't let her unlock the hair link. They lost interest in their friends and spent all day together, singing songs, swapping outfits, talking in a secret language. It was a level of obsession far beyond anything healthy. Was this because of the bow? She'd never seen one before, but it was only a temporary thing. The weird enthusiasm would calm down. They were excited about their new friendship. That's all.

On day two, Poppy decided they'd fallen off a cliff and ended up with concussions.

"Pfff, we don't need to see a doctor," Branch said, moving Poppy to the side with a sparkling grin. "Please do be careful of the zen garden."

Branch's half of the hair placed a shiny black boulder on the beach.

This was so wrong.

"Apologies Poppy, but do you mind?" Creek said. He indicated to a sign speckled with glitter stars and the words _Creek & Branch Only GO AWAY._

She stepped behind the sign and tried again. "Branch, do you want to—"

"Can't. Creek and I are making kombucha after this."

He… brushed her off so easily.

Poppy looked at Creek but he shook his head before she could say anything. Creek pulled Branch into a side hug and both trolls chuckled. They picked up rakes and strolled onto the sand.

The mortal frenemies were getting along. This was good. Why was she so bothered?

Things quickly got worse (better?) from there. Creek and Branch presented her with a card for a Friendship Permanence Ceremony. They wanted to make their hair join permanent. They'd be twins like Satin and Chenille.

Nobody had the sprinkles to say anything. You could scold a troll for being mean, but what could you say about being too good a friend? The queen certainly couldn't say anything about it; imagine the example she'd set if she asked them to stop.

Poppy stood on the town square mushroom. She felt like she was officiating a funeral.

"Creek and Branch will now join their hair together. Forever," she heard herself say. "Unless of course someone has a reason they shouldn't?"

No one in the sparse audience would make eye contact.

"Anyone? Anyone have a reason?!"

"Poppy?" Branch asked. "Is there a problem?"

"I guess… not?"

"Great!" the new best friends shouted in unison. They grabbed onto the respective ends of their hair and pulled. The befriending bow started to get smaller. It would take a lot of purposeful force to tighten the knot all the way. Were they really going to go through with it?

Unbidden mental scrapbook moments flipped through her memory. A hug on a mushroom above the treetop. The embrace after gifting a striped comb. Struggling to hold up an injured body. Shining soft hair under her fingertips. Hands holding hers by the fire. A careful caress. Quiet words of affection.

She shifted uncomfortably, unable to tear her gaze from the blue green ball shrinking into a permanent connection. Something gross and unwelcome was crawling its sticky feet into her guts. Her skin prickled. She… didn't want to share. She didn't want to share.

The loops on the bow were getting way too small.

After this she'd never get to see Branch without Creek too. Frosting, it didn't matter who it was; together time with Branch was ending.

Forget being queen for a second.

The knot was almost gone.

She had a reason.

"Okay stop!" Poppy yelled, snaking her hair key into the bow and undoing it completely. Branch and Creek were separate trolls again. Separate trolls who were both indignant, mad she'd ended the ceremony.

She apologized to the two angry trolls on stage. Whatever was going on, it didn't feel right. She shouldn't have tied them together in the first place.

Branch and Creek shared a conspiratorial glance. "That's all we wanted to hear," Branch said.

It was a trick.

"You mean you aren't really best friends?" she asked.

"No!" Creek groaned as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. Which, two days ago, it had been.

The fake friends exchanged a high five and left Poppy standing on the stage, dumbfounded. She didn't know what to feel. Minutes ago she'd almost lost something important, but the whole event was a prank, so had it almost been lost or not? She watched Branch frolicking in the distance.

She had to know.

She went home, snipped off a section of hair, wrapped it around her troll gem, and buried it in a pot of soil.


	11. Gifts

"I wasn't sure which you felt like, so I got one of each." Branch offered Tug a choice between a stoutberry juice and the same thing with glitter in it: glitteraide. The novelty of the latter was finding out whether or not you could digest glitter.

"Thank you Branch," Tug said, taking the sparkling juice off his hands.

Bringing treats like this to her at the tourist booth made him feel fuzzy. The side effects of generosity could be really darn addicting.

Tug looked up at his hair. "Where is Creek?"

"Oh, heard about that did you? We only did that to get back at Poppy."

"So the two of you won't get along any better?"

"No." Branch sipped his drink, unwilling to admit that Creek hadn't been totally horrible to be stuck with once they shared a common goal. He still didn't want the guy anywhere near Poppy. Knowing that Creek felt the same way about him, though, that was proving difficult to swallow.

Tug's big tour guide smile didn't change, but her eyebrows pinched in concern. "Okay then. Any progress on the unresolved issue you mentioned before?"

"Still unresolved."

She giggled in the bright, cheery way she always did. "Oh Branch, no need to be so secretive. I'm not a bergen. I won't bite."

He sighed and spared a detail so this line of questioning would end. "It's ancestry research. For me. I wasn't able to find anything at the library."

"That's because those scrapbooks are not at the library."

Without looking, Tug reached up and pulled down a loop that unrolled a poster for Tug Duluth's Scrapbook Spectacle. Emblazoned on the front was an all-too-familiar image of the insane cart ride required to enter the library. She recited from memory, "Family scrapbooks are passed down generation to generation, each troll adding new pages. It can be great fun to hide these for kids or grandkids to find, so be sure to check your pod for hidden treasure when you get home!"

Tug waved to the other end of the booth as if she was giving the tour now. "At our next stop, you'll get a look at the Royal Archives and meet with King Peppy himself!"

Branch's fingers were digging into the counter. "There are Royal Archives?"

"Why, yes. You will need to ask the queen or king about them. Many of the scrapbooks are too delicate or too personal to be at the library."

Not a chance was he giving Poppy the opportunity to nose through his family history. Her father, on the other hand, he could live with.

It would have to wait. Smidge's hair bow was making a beeline through the market in his direction.

"Branch. Poppy wants to see you."

When he arrived, the queen was pacing the length of her pod. "We have a bit of a problem," she said. "Bridget wants trolls to visit Bergentown more often. And she's right. So far the only ones here who visit are, well, us. If I don't change that, things could go back to the way they were.

"At first I thought we could build a resort at the Bergentown tree. I even had a great, kinda cute, kinda ugly name picked out. But now I'm realizing I can't risk sending anyone there, Branch. Not after what happened to you. So I decided I'll go out there myself."

Not gonna happen.

"Great," he said. "Send the one person the village depends on so the rest of us can stuff our faces with cake and hope everything works out. Solid plan, Poppy. A+"

Poppy put her hands on her hips. "OK then, mister know-it-all. What if you were king? What would your plan be?"

Being appointed co-leader wasn't a situation he wanted to imagine. He'd have to meet everyone in the village. All problems would land on his doorstep. The rest of his career would be nothing but noise and glitter. He felt miserable already. But what truly terrified him was that he'd do it.

If Poppy asked him to, he'd do it.

Maybe he was reading too far into this. "Why would I be king?"

"I dunno. It's hypothetical."

Now the dread kicked in. "I don't want to be king. You're not thinking making me king, are you?"

"No, I – ugh," Poppy was saying over him.

"Because I'd much rather be the Head of Security and Defense."

"That's not even a thing."

"If Smidge gets to make up her position, I don't see why I can't."

"Branch! All I wanted was your opinion on what I should do."

Anxiety came to a screeching halt. She wanted to listen to him. Instead of rushing forward with her crazy plan she was pausing to think. Not only that, she wanted advice. His advice.

A surge of emotion gripped him. He was going to give her the best he could.

Bergens had different technology than trolls. Clearing out a few slugs would be a cinch for them. After that was taken care of the queen could send a team to seal off the entrances and let the tree do the rest. Now that it had happiness to grow on, it shouldn't take long.

Poppy stared for a bit after his explanation. "You know," she said, keen to push the new button she'd discovered, "the village could use a prince."

"Absolutely not."

"But who will lead if something happens to me?"

"Nothing's going to happen to you."

"We don't know that."

"Poppy, please don't." His voice cracked, betraying his feelings.

He couldn't handle this. Of course she would choose to be pragmatic now and push so hard on one of his biggest fears. "I try to plan for the worst, but I have to imagine you are somewhere out there. If something happened to you, it's… I can't…"

His distress took Poppy by surprise.

If he didn't leave right now, he was going to hug her and not let go. "Everything with the bergens will be fine. I gotta go."

"Branch…"

He was already out the door.

~~~~~~

She'd hurt him.

Poppy thought Branch always considered the worst case scenario. He prepared for disaster before it happened. She was certain he imagined situations where she was gone and there was no queen.

Now her certainty unraveled, a pulled string on a yarn ball. Her insides felt like the knotted mass of thread left behind. She didn't want to see him upset like that.

Then there was the matter with the bergens. Branch was correct: making the old tree safe before any construction was key. Yet it bothered her that her friends didn't trust her to do it on her own. She'd asked their advice and it was all the same.

She'd listen, this time. But she was queen now and there were things she should be able to do independently without help. All her life she'd relied on other people, whether as part of a plan or as a last minute rescue. Now it was time to act on her own. She was more than a song, a dance, and a scrapbook.

The idea she had wouldn't work if it included a certain troll. It was too easy to imagine the many ways he'd nose in... large and lovable as that nose was. A backup plan! She would make a backup plan. That was the perfect place for that big lavender squish nugget.

She got her scissors and clipped out artwork. A flat, circular disk took her recording. "Hey Bridge, I can't wait to build a Bergentown place for trolls to stay in. But first, could you get rid of the predators inside the tree so they don't eat us? Love ya!"

Poppy slipped the disc between thick layers of colored cardstock and glued the card together. She sang for a mail bee. The little insect grasped the envelope and buzzed away.

Standing on her doorstep, Poppy called out to see if the Royal Helper happened to be nearby. "Smidge!"

Sure enough, a moment later her friend swung out of the treetops. "I need a meeting set up with Meadow Spriggs, Milton, Tug, and Dr. Moonbloom. Separate, not together. I'll need an entire day with Meadow. Two hug times with the others." Poppy had a feeling she'd be hanging out with these trolls more often after this.

Smidge's cheeks were pink from the mention of "Milton" and "hug time." She set off to go schedule the meetings, which left Poppy to go see the one troll she hadn't listed: Creek. There was little point in scheduling a meeting with the carefree troll. He was either around or he wasn't.

Poppy skipped along the tree, humming an upbeat melody while she considered how to cheer Branch up. He'd mentioned dropping a stuffed crocodile toy in the root tunnels as a kid. It was probably a gift from his grandma, possibly his parents, though he never spoke of them. She should make time to dig around Bergentown for the toy.

It took a while to find Creek. Poppy spotted him among the mushrooms on the forest floor, having an unusually animated conversation with another troll. He looked happy. Poppy sat and swung her legs over the tree limb, enjoying the breeze and waiting for them to finish.

But the two didn't finish. Instead, the other troll leaned in and kissed Creek.

Poppy nearly fell. Then she laughed at herself and stared up at the sky, the same light blue color as Creek's boyfriend Ripple. Should she come back later? She risked a peek down. No, they were saying goodbye. She hurried to the tree slide before Creek could get too far.

He blushed when he saw her. Poppy grinned. Yes, she'd seen it. They were a cute couple. Even if it wouldn't last, since both trolls were the short-term, noncommittal variety. But teasing Creek wasn't why she was here.

"Creek, could you teach me what you learned while you were out there?" She waved at the wilds.

The calm troll's words were still warm with the intimate moment she'd accidentally spied on. "Anything for you, Poppy. Would you like the spiritual or physical revelations?"

"Physical. Bugs, plants, critters. Ooo, ooo! And spiritual too. What did you miss most? What was the least fun part?"

"Woah woah, easy there." Creek protected himself from the rush of questions with open hands. He placed his palms together. "Let's walk, shall we?"

~~~~~~

Branch had put this difficult conversation off long enough.

Peppy's multi-story pod was full of hair crafts: knitting, sculpture, wall art, and even what appeared to be a series of hair cakes. The cakes were new since his last visit.

"Branch, my boy! What brings you here? Care for a tea? Cider?"

Branch requested tea and sat at the kitchen table. He might be here a while. Hopefully his somber mood wouldn't bother Peppy too much.

Peppy started the hot water and poked through cabinets for tea leaves and honeyflowers. "So," the older troll said, "Did you want embarrassing scrapbooks about Poppy? Because I'm always happy to share those with her friends."

Branch appreciated Peppy's attempt to cheer his dull mood, but the only cure was to get this over with. He stared into the empty teacup. "Actually, I wanted to ask about my parents."

Peppy didn't miss a beat. "I'm surprised it took you this long." He held off on pouring the drinks. "I think you should come upstairs. I'll leave the tea here. If it gets on the scrapbooks our ancestors will have my hair."

Upstairs was divided into a few rooms. The smallest of these was the Royal Archives. At one time there might have been a lot of scrapbooks, but now there were plenty of gaps.

"Not as grand as I was expecting," Branch said, eyeing the empty spaces in the shelves.

"That's a good thing."

Two cubbies in the wall had curtains over them. Peppy folded these back and browsed the spines. "One day this will be Poppy's responsibility. I hope to keep it from her as long as possible. If you ever become a father you'll understand."

Branch was close enough to read some of the spines on the main shelf.

_Those We've Lost_  
_In the Mouths of Beasts  
_ _Goodbye My Love_

This was a room of sadness. Registries of the departed, depictions of horrors beset upon captured trolls, and cautionary tales were mixed in with histories and biographies. The curtained cubbies, though, those contained a handful of books entrusted to the village in the event the writer was suddenly ripped from this world.

One of these was the thin, faded purple binding the king now held in his hands. A book kept secret until the day its owner was ready.

"Your mother left this for you."

Branch took the scrapbook home. He couldn't bring himself to read it. The purple cover blended in with wilderness guides, bestiaries, builder's manuals, notes, and his personal journal. He knew precisely where his mom's writing was. No matter his level of curiosity, it couldn't overcome the trauma he knew he'd experience when he opened it.

So the book remained tucked away.

Its existence brought him unexpected comfort. It was like she was waiting there for when he was ready. He just couldn't face her yet.

And so life went on. He found himself at the village more and more often, which meant less time for chores. His farm shrank. Sometimes a repair sat on his workbench for days before he got to it. He replaced the abandoned sweat stockpile with a healthy, efficient set of drinking water storage containers. He spent a lot of time with a certain troll. A lot of time.

"Gary, quit judging me."

Gary sat on the shelf and stared at him.

"Ok I like her, geeze! There, I said it. Are you happy now? Yes, a lot. None of your business."

Saying he liked her was the equivalent of calling the ocean a puddle, but if Gary knew that, Branch would never hear the end of it.

He brushed bits of leaves and confetti from the latest festival out of his hair with his striped wooden comb. Satisfied the outdoors wouldn't follow him to bed, he tucked in for the night. Sleep was peaceful.

Until it wasn't. A cacophony of jingle bells jolted him awake. He went into attack mode, but Poppy was smart enough to be standing out of immediate reach.

Poppy? In his bedroom? Was this going to be a good dream or a nightmare?

"How'd you get in here?" he asked.

"Smidge let me in." On cue, a second uninvited troll crawled out from under his bed. Okay, definitely a nightmare. No more noisenberries before bed.

Imaginary or not, Poppy and Smidge together spelled trouble. Trouble like people breaking into his bunker. Trouble like tango. "We need to talk about boundaries," Branch asserted.

Poppy ignored him and thrust a gift box into his arms. This was real. He could feel the box's paper texture under his fingers. Stupefied, he lifted the lid.

Inside rested the plush crocodile that fell from his hair the night they fled the troll tree all those years ago. Crocko was stained but otherwise intact, even the shiny button eyes.

Poppy had no idea how much the gift she'd given meant. He held Crocko to his cheek. The fuzzy fabric was exactly the same; all the memories clouded his mind. She'd done this for him. She'd brought this piece of the past back. He'd lost so much. To have this one good thing returned… he was without words.

She waved her hand like it was no big deal. "Just a week's worth of digging for a friend!"

There was that word again: friend. She sure was saying it a lot lately.

Poppy bubbled about needing to be at Harper's place and made a hasty exit. He didn't even get a chance to say thank you. Not that simple thanks would be enough.

Apparently he wasn't the only one Poppy afflicted with a heartfelt present. Smidge hosted a support group for "Poppy Present Syndrome," so he teamed up with his friends to try and match Poppy's thoughtfulness. The group settled on rare flowers, but when they got to the grotto only one remained. They were resigned to a group gift. Poppy didn't mind.

Branch did.

He sat at the table in his library, head propped up in one hand, staring down Crocko. His fingertips drummed a random cadence on the wood. Presents. It'd be great to smack down a shockingly personal gift just to see the look on her face.

He browsed the mental catalog of her favorite activities. A surprise trip with their friends would work, but he wanted the gift to be something just between the two of them. Something meaningful.

An idea started to form in his mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since my fic is radically different in its take on troll government I'll clarify. No one is forced into a position of royalty by birth or marriage; leadership roles are by choice. The current leader is responsible for appointing successor(s). Peppy would've called his daughter "princess" as a term of endearment growing up. It ended up being something she was interested in doing, so the title became official as a teenager.


	12. Last Dance

It wasn't often the trolls hosted a formal ball, but when they did Poppy always gathered her close friends who wanted to go without dates. They'd get dressed up with fancy clothes and styled hair. Biggie, Mr. Dinkles, Satin, and Chenille were her crew this time. They met up at the salon.

Biggie looked around. "Where's Branch?"

"Yeah," Satin said. "I thought after he came to see us he'd, uh," Satin fidgeted under the glare of her twin sister, "fix our sewing machine and bring it here."

Poppy understood now. "That's why I wasn't able to find him. Well, did you ask if he was coming?"

The twins shared a glance. "No."

"Shoot. He probably took the machine back to your pod. I'll go—"

"NO!" the twins said. Chenille took over. "We need to get our hair done right now, Poppy. Other trolls are waiting on us."

"Ah, yes. True. _Let's get it done~_ "

Poppy's dress of choice came to her knees. It was sparkling powder blue with pink and yellow accents, definitely more cute than provocative. The bottom flared out wider than her usual outfits. She picked out a matching headband and bracelet. Fun!

By the time they got to the ball they were fashionably late. The party was underway and the punch was already half full. A forgotten bundle of lanterns rested under a tree trunk. They should be strung up.

"Poppy, you're doing it again," Satin complained. "Every hair ball you get so focused on making sure it's fun for everyone else, you forget to dance."

"I do?"

A loud voice interrupted their conversation. "Poppy's got the right idea. Fancy dancing's too stuffy. That's why I'll be over here. All. Night."

Branch. He'd been staked out at the snack bar the whole time, leaning up against a tree in his everyday clothes. This was so much like his old behavior it surprised her.

She wasn't going to let him relapse. If he was here, he was gonna dance, fancy outfit or not. She told him so, but his only response was a cool smile. Cool colors. More blue lanterns, that's what the atmosphere needed. She sought out the pile she'd seen earlier.

Poppy spent all evening keeping the party going, and every time she ended up by the snacks Branch was still there. Telling him to go out and have fun wasn't working. Was he really going to stand there all night?

The afterparty rolled around. She collected the remaining party favor bags and brought them over to the snack table for easy cleanup. Glittering rays from the festivities caught her eye and she looked up to find that night's underdressed wallflower against the tree, gazing at the dancers out in the field. The smile he'd kept up all night was gone, replaced by a look of resignation.

She dropped the bags. "That's it. I am taking you on that dance floor right now."

Branch sighed. "Fine."

In a snap he ducked behind the tree and reappeared totally transformed, hair slicked back in an elegant curve to match the dark tuxedo and charming smile.

"WHAT?" was all she managed before he took her hand and led her into a wild spin. He caught her on the other side.

Branch said, "You're always worrying about everyone else so much, I knew the only way to get you on the floor was to make you make me dance with you."

Her mind was reeling, so it took a second to navigate the logic. "Yep. Checks out. Good plan, Branch."

Now she was the one taking his hand. They ran across the field to the afterparty, Poppy filled with giddy excitement. She had a lot of pent up energy, and Branch was a joy to dance with when the mood struck him. Light on his feet but sturdy and strong, and, more recently, spontaneous.

The ball may have started out fancy, but waltzes and orchestrals had long dissolved into uncontrolled afterparty randomness. Music bumped with an electronic groove. Guy spun from a tree limb, flooding the grass with disco sparkles. Every now and then a garment decorated by a troll gem would glow with its owner's melodic laughter.

Poppy released Branch's hand. She leapt and turned in the air, landing with a stomp facing him. She shuffled her feet and swung her hips, the short dress swirling around her with every twist. The two of them jived to the funky disco, jabbing fingers to the sky and ground, strutting their stuff, dancing with such unabashed silliness it somehow worked.

They advanced toward each other one step at a time, then backed away, rolling their arms. With a quick hop she put her back to Branch. He did the same. They danced in reverse until they were back to back. He pressed against her; she dropped her arms so they could link hands.

Instead, Branch whirled around and took one of her hands. For a brief moment they were intimately close, his chest up against her back. He was quick to use the handhold to turn her around to face him again.

Branch was trying really hard to look innocent but she could see the sneaky grin hiding under the smile.

"Someone's feisty," she said, feeling playful. "In that case…" Poppy lifted their joined hands high and spun Branch around. She slid her arm around the silky smooth fabric of his tux and dipped him low. Now he was completely at her mercy. He couldn't get away without rolling to the ground.

Branch saw the look in her eyes. "Poppy, no… no!"

Too late. It messed up her hairstyle, but she did it anyway.

Everybody turned to watch the troll queen tickle her helpless dance partner. His navy coat hung open enough to expose the sensitive spot on his sides, which Poppy took ruthless advantage of. The white dress shirt wasn't thick enough to protect him.

Branch's grip on her arms tightened while he squirmed, laughing uncontrollably. His unfiltered musical laughter was irresistible. "Poppy haha! Haha, ha, Poppy!" Weakly he tried to push her hair away with his own. She evaded and continued to brush pink strands over his ticklish spot.

She couldn't help herself. Branch was laughing with zero restraint and the sound was so thrilling she thought she might burst. Instead of escaping he clutched at her and writhed in her arms, sparking giddy excitement that incited her to tickle him _more_.

A feathery touch swept along her leg and she yelped, losing her footing. They both came crashing down, Poppy slung over Branch's midriff. Now she was the one wiggling and giggling.

"Really?" Branch panted. "Your ankles?"

He quit tickling her, letting his hair fall back in place. Poppy sat up and tried to catch her breath.

"Look what you started," Branch said, still flopped in the grass.

Her people were running around the field, chasing each other with feathers and bunches of handheld hair. Milton had Smidge curled into a giggling golden ball. Harper assaulted Guy with a paintbrush. The only safe troll was Suki because nobody wanted the music to stop.

Amidst the chaos Poppy helped Branch to his feet. He removed his coat and shook off bits of grass, shooting her a roguish grin. "Maybe let me lead this time?"

They'd had this conversation many times. "You know the queen always leads."

"And I love dancing with the queen, especially when she tickle attacks me in front of everyone," he said, eyes sparkling. "But right now I'm not asking her to dance. I'm asking Poppy."

There was a real vulnerability behind the hand he offered; she could see it in the tense smile, the creases along the corners of his eyes. Hopeful. Scared.

She slipped her hand into his. "Maybe just this once."

Around them the trolls who were still on their feet continued to chase each other down with feathers. Poppy said, "But I get to pick the song. Otherwise this could go on all night."

"Deal."

Hand-in-hand they approached Suki's woofer bug. Poppy called up to her. "Hey Suki, do you have Mags' _Last Dance_?"

"You got it dudes!"

Branch studied Poppy. "Isn't that a little… romantic?"

"Yes, but it'll calm everyone down. Works like a charm every time."

A cymbal roll introduced the song's slow, tender bass line. The soft chh chh of a hi-hat decorated the backdrop.

_One last chance to dance again  
_ _Quiet sound settles in  
_ _Please take my hand  
_ _Don't let me stand  
_ _Here alone_

Branch guided her to a spot where they had room to move and took her hands in his, a friendly gap of open air between their bodies. Gentle piano melody filled the air and he led her into a slow dance. It was very much like that day back in the bergen pot, the day Branch lifted her out of despair.

No, this was somehow different. Back then, he kept a calm but firm control of spacing. Now Poppy followed his lead and found he let her go as far away as she wanted.

Curiosity got the best of her.

A little push of his hand signaled a turn. Poppy followed the cue, but this time when he brought her back she stepped just a bit closer. Branch didn't flinch away. So while they moved in slow time to the beat, she inched forward more.

_When the night is over  
Will you be my last dance_

Lyrics clouded her thoughts, leaving only a sense of awe at how easily the gap was shrinking. There was no resistance.

_Kaleidoscopes of sunny stars  
_ _All days that were ours  
_ _It's wonderful how  
_ _I hold you now  
_ _Close to me_

By the time the chorus came around again she was less than a step away from ruining their two-handed dance position.

"Poppy," Branch's voice was soft. "You know if you keep that up I'm going to have to switch posture."

She wasn't quite listening, busy contemplating the inviting dark satin in front of her. How nice it would be to rest her head there while they rocked in place. A dancing hug.

Branch murmured, "Okay…"

She felt one of her hands go free and a delicate touch wrap around her back. Branch made no attempt to pull her against him, and the ghost of the arm around her meant she could leave any time. Whatever she did was her choice, but as it was she had to place her free hand on his shoulder.

Being held like this, she realized she'd made a grave error.

She didn't want to leave.

_When the moss is turned to stone  
_ _Eternity calling home  
_ _It's you and me  
_ _We'll still be  
_ _Together_

For the rest of the night's final song they remained that way, two trolls swaying together under the light of the moon. The longer she stayed, the more supportive Branch's arm around her became.

He was so close. She could sense his heartbeat through the film of air between them, his pulse covering up the squeezing silence in her own chest. She didn't want to hurt him with that emptiness. He still had a heart that could break.

Poppy closed her eyes and surrendered herself to the moment the way it was.

In the musical darkness Branch's careful grip guided her. He didn't ask for anything more and he didn't let go.

_When the night is over  
Will you be my last dance  
_ _Oh when the night is over_  
_Will you be  
_ _My last dance_

The final chord hung in the air and faded away.

Branch set her free and stepped back. He looked as caught up in a dream as she felt, indigo hair softly glowing, eyes half-lidded. Subtle glitter flecks sparkled on his cheeks. Had those always been there?

His gaze met hers. Suddenly aware she'd been appreciating him, he hid whatever emotion was on his face and reverted back to normal Branch. Those glitter freckles definitely came and went.

It was disconcerting to realize normal Branch was just as attractive as the secret one she'd glimpsed. The silence between them grew thick.

Suki pulled up on her woofer bug. "Do you two need a ride home, or…?"

"Oh! Um. No." Poppy stammered.

"Actually…" Branch said.

That was right. He had a long trip home.

"Could you give us a minute though?" Branch asked.

"No problem. I'll be right over there." Suki and her fluffy beetle ambled away.

Branch waited until Suki was out of earshot before returning his attention. "Poppy. That was delightful. And I mean it."

His voice was gentle, full of honest affection. "I've said some things to you in the past I shouldn't have. I want you to know you're a great queen and I'm happy to help any time you need me. This is for you."

Branch carefully reached into his hair and withdrew a yellow ukulele. The sound hole was cut in the shape of a flower, a pink outline etched and felted around it.

Poppy took the instrument and recognized its familiar feel and weight instantly. "How did you…" She turned it over and over. The only difference was the tuning pegs. She ran her fingers over the leaf-shaped knobs. They were real. Real leaves.

"I asked Tuner to make another one based on what I could remember," he said.

She untied the gift ribbon and flicked her fingers over the four strings. They sang, and something caught her eye. She tried a couple more chords. The leaves on the ukulele started to vine out. Now she had to keep playing. The plant curled around the wood and at the top of the ukulele's neck, a closed flower bud grew.

She stopped and the plant withdrew back into itself, leaving only the tuning pegs as a hint it was there.

"Branch," she breathed. "This is…"

This felt different than any gift she'd received before. She was sure the plant part wasn't Tuner's work. She flicked her gaze up at Branch.

"I might have made a modification or two."

She clutched the ukulele to her chest.

"Anyway, my ride's waiting. Night, Poppy."

She couldn't speak.

Poppy stepped into her pod in a daze. She emptied the contents of her hair onto the bed, changed out of her dress, took a shower, dried off, put on pajamas. Stared at the pot with her troll gem planted inside that sprouted nothing, nothing, nothing. Dug up the jewel of happiness, polished it, returned it to her hair.

She lay awake.

She picked up Branch's gift and went outside.

At the top of the tree, the troll without a heart stood alone in the cool night. When she started to sing, the flower at the tip of her instrument blossomed into a luminescent whirl of complex petals.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Personally I skip over any lyrics I see in Trolls fics. Does anyone else do that? For this song I cut the repeating chorus out to keep pacing smooth.


	13. Butterfly Brushing

Branch was a cloud of butterflies. He sat in silence next to Suki, the woofer bug below purring a faint tune on its midnight journey.

He couldn't keep his emotions in check, not with the memory of her in his arms. Not just a hug.

"Hate to break it to you man, but you've got a thing for Poppy," Suki said.

"News to me," he said dryly. As usual it went right over Suki's head.

"Yeah. For like, a while now."

"..."

"And she doesn't like you back. I mean, not in that way."

"I hadn't noticed." This time his words were so negatively sarcastic even Suki picked up on it. She turned her head to stare at him, wide-eyed.

Yes, he had noticed Poppy's feelings didn't match his. That was why he'd been so utterly terrified when she forced him to bring her close so he didn't step on her feet. And she'd picked that song.

Branch buried his face in his hands. Did she have any idea what she was doing to him?

Suki looked back to the road. "So. You gonna give up or what?"

He sighed and let his arms drop. "If I had any sense I would. But the truth is I don't think I can. So no. I'm not giving up."

"Good. Poppy's one tough cookie but she'll come around."

Now it was his turn to give Suki a quizzical stare.

"What? I see trolls dancing all the time. I know what I'm talking about."

Branch didn't dare hope Suki was right. It upset the butterflies.

After that night Poppy's defenses were back stronger than ever. It didn't surprise him, but it was disappointing. She was skittish when he offered solutions to village problems or did anything that required a high degree of trust. During a game of freeze tag she refused his hand when he tried to take her to safety, and they both ended up frozen.

He, on the other hand, took every available opportunity to be close to her without overstepping boundaries, whether it was hanging around the edge of a party in case she needed him (he always hoped she did), supporting her during village presentations, or volunteering to teach Keith and the other kids how to ride flyer bugs. Being near Poppy was the only cure for the ache he felt when he wasn't.

So naturally the day he heard she was sick he went for a visit in the evening, once the commotion died down. Smidge was standing guard outside the pod entrance. The inside was a disaster.

"What happened?" he wondered aloud, taking in the stacks of pots and bowls, herbal teas, honey, sympathy cards, and a potted plant known for its ability to put moisture into the air. No flowers. Maybe he should've brought some. It was different when it wasn't anonymous, though. He'd have to argue with himself over what color to get. Yellow gave the wrong signal. Red was a fool's errand.

Poppy sat up against a stack of pillows where she was tucked into bed. "Branch? I didn't think you would show up for an illness. What if you catch what I have?"

The comment triggered his danger sense. He leapt away from the bed. "How bad is it? Is it contagious? It's not an ear worm, or a jitter bug, or dance fever?"

She laughed. Evidently she'd said that to tease him. "Relax. It's only a sore throat. I accidentally mentioned it this morning and now here I am. Smidge won't let me leave."

He waved a hand at the clutter. "All this over a sore throat?"

"Yep. Sure you don't want to be king?"

"Positive."

"Soooo," Poppy said, "this is gonna sound funny, but if you brought something I'd love to see it and then we can put it with my collection."

"I, ah, didn't bring anything." He regretted the lack of flowers. Rainbow crazy daisies. That would've been safe. "I came to see if there was anything I could do for you. Though it seems like the village has that pretty well covered."

"You… came to ask me what _I_ want?"

"Mmm." He arranged some of the pots so they weren't in the walkway. What was she going to do with all of this? Late night soup potluck, perhaps.

Poppy was unusually quiet. Then she said, "Will you brush my hair?"

He deserved an award for not dropping the soup. "Sure."

She told him where to find her brushes and combs. While he chose he took a steadying breath, reminding himself there was no hidden meaning behind the friendly invitation. It's not like they had any privacy. The pod doorway was wide open and Smidge lurked somewhere beyond it.

Poppy changed position under the circular blanket, moving away from the pillows so she could lie face down with her head resting on folded arms, as if she were going to get a massage. Her face turned to the side just enough he could make out one closed eye and the curl of a pleased smile.

A plush stool rested against the bedside. He moved it over to the hot pink puff and took a seat, gathering the fluffy dream into his lap. Honestly, it didn't look like it needed brushing. He curled his hair around hers like a ponytail so he had both hands to feel for snarls. Silk strands flowed between his fingers, softening his heart.

"It shouldn't be too tangled," Poppy said. "Biggie was here earlier."

The corners of his mouth lifted. Guess she wanted her hair brushed for no reason other than that it felt good. He could empathize with that. He released the ponytail and started with a brush tipped in soft, flexible bristles, sliding it through her hair above the flower headband.

After a few strokes Poppy unfurled an arm to tweak the headband up. She wanted it off. Butterflies started to churn. He swallowed, gently took hold of the accessory, and slid it all the way down. He set the circle on the nightstand.

Poppy's nose nestled in the crook of her folded arms, the back of her naked hair freely offered for affection. He stroked the soft brush through it, hoping to expel the word 'naked' from his traitorous mind. The brush glided all the way from root to tip in long, slow strokes. She sighed contentedly under his ministrations, making his smile go mushy.

"Branch," she said into her arm. "I went to the troll gem garden yesterday. I don't think I'll be mentoring you much longer. I'm excited for you. Even though I'm going to be busy with the Bergentown tree from now on, I want you to know you're important to me."

His heart squeezed. Was she trying to kill him? It was working. "You're important to me too. But I figure you know that since I don't brush just anybody's hair."

He could hear the laughter in her voice. "I saw you brushing Cooper last week! You helped Guy get his hair straightened out for a photoshoot yesterday, and you're always untwisting Satin and Chenille from some crazy accident."

"Okay first of all, does Cooper strike you as 'just anybody?' Second, you know how impossible it is to deny Guy anything, and last, even though I'm sure Satin and Chenille get tangled on purpose I can't leave them that way. It's pathetic."

"Defend yourself all you like, but I know you care."

He did care. In fact he cared very deeply about the troll whose hair he was brushing now. When she felt good he did, too.

Inspired, he switched the soft brush for a round one with hard tips spaced out on a flexible cushion. He carefully placed the tips at the nape of her neck and dragged the brush up her hair, trying to keep contact with the skin underneath so she could feel it. A light touch, that's all.

Poppy turned her face down into the mattress. She murmured pleasantly, "Okay, yes, do that harder please."

He increased the pressure so the bristles massaged into her scalp. She melted.

"This feels reeeaaaally good."

Of course she was going to vocalize how she felt. Of course she was. Heat flushed his cheeks. If anyone came into the pod right now he was going to jump so high he'd put a hole in the ceiling.

He wasn't doing this as a friend anymore, but she didn't need to know. He continued to massage the stiff bristles in straight paths against her head through her hair to the end. Each pass emitted a rubbing, rushing sssss like a river, sending her deeper and deeper into relaxation until she was a pool of poppies under the blankets waterfalling out over the edge.

Every so often she'd breathe a pleasurable hum. It drove the butterflies so crazy he was sure, he was _sure_ , this would be how he died. His free hand joined the brush and he was petting and stroking her hair, feeling her softness under his palm, and she didn't budge, no, she was enjoying this. Enjoying him and his company and what he was doing.

His insides tightened. He was making her feel good.

As he rolled the motion out again and again, she tipped her head to the side. Her breathing deepened until it was steady and even.

She trusted him enough to fall asleep under his touch. The weight of that rocked him. For a while all he could do was continue brushing, wondering if she'd wake.

Her features had gone soft in a way he'd never seen. A hint of relaxed mouth peeked above the sheets, velvet nose slightly squished against her arm. Pink wisps obscured closed, thick eyelashes. He couldn't seem to swallow the lump in his throat.

She was so beautiful, and so close. He, um. He...

He stopped brushing. His hand lingered. Supple strands tickled between his fingers as he trailed slowly through her hair one last time. The sensation within him was swirling, swelling. Poppy...

She remained quiet, the only movement the slight rise and fall of the blanket as she slept.

His heart felt thick and heavy in his chest. He couldn't. He shouldn't. But. He just.

Brushed aside the bangs.

And then.

Traced a finger over her cheek.

And.

His gaze wandered to her lips.

Then.

He stood up and went all the way to the other side of the room.

Branch rubbed his forehead and internally groaned. What was he doing? He shouldn't have done any of that! If he wanted to find out if he could feel glitter freckles (he couldn't), he should've asked. She probably would have said yes, being the good friend that she was. Friend, friend, friend, she was his friend.

He treated himself to some hot soup and tried to calm down. This feeling, it was awful. All of the butterflies were coated in sticky melted syrup, flapping and making an absolute tormented mess out of his insides. He didn't want to be a best friend anymore. He wanted to be more than that.

"Gah, Branch, you look horrible. What did Poppy do to you?" Smidge said, entering the pod to see what the quiet was about.

He barked out a laugh. "Nothing. She fell asleep."

Smidge regarded the snoozing form. "Sleeping like that? You must've _really_ been brushing her hair."

No comment.

Smidge and Branch took leftover soup to Guy's place for a glitterfied potluck that kept his neighborhood up late. Branch didn't stay. He went home.

Okay, he checked on Poppy first. Then he went home.

He couldn't avoid his feelings any longer. Each day dragged him down the spiral of thoughts until he reached the very bottom.

When he was younger he had a couple of crushes that came and went. He admired those trolls from afar. Very far; he wasn't too keen on getting hugged or being kidnapped into the loud part of the village in an attempt to "cheer him up."

A few times the crush was mutual. He thought. After what happened later he second guessed everything. But yes, he wasn't immune to attraction and curiosity if it was a good day. The details were smudged after all these years, but he had memories of romance between bouts of paranoia and night terrors.

None of those experiences ever lasted long, but they were useful, and he didn't regret them, even though at the time the pain of anything good ending caused him to recede further into himself. He didn't handle breakups the way most trolls would. Big surprise.

By the time the cute green troll showed up, he was well practiced at blocking all emotion. Maybe it was because he'd been alone for a while, maybe it was because that day started out with a rare gift on his doorstep from one of the village elders, or maybe it was because the green troll wouldn't leave him alone – but somehow he found himself with a careful yet energetic forest shadow.

They spent some time together every now and then. He opened up slowly, slowly, testing to be sure it was safe. It was only a friendship. For no reason he could fathom, she wasn't bothered by his sometimes snappish attitude. She said she preferred it over the emotionless one. Well, that made sense. A boulder didn't make for great conversation.

He fell for her. He couldn't help it. He paid for the extra bit of color with mild nightmares about bergens crushing the village pods, indiscriminately eating trolls on sight, sending waves of gray through the onlookers. Rainbow blood from half-eaten bodies coagulated into black tar.

It was worth it to have his hand held.

He let more color in, because she was eager to hug him. As long as he avoided singing and dancing, it would be survivable. Hmm. A little more color in case, just for her. The increments were so small he doubted anyone noticed the difference.

When she asked for a kiss he willingly obliged. It had been a while, but he wanted this one.

Here it came, the grubby bottom of his mind's staircase.

After that kiss, the look on her face.

Anguish.

Why hadn't he regained his colors? She kissed him again. He didn't know what was… this wasn't… right. This wasn't right. Kisses were happening but he wasn't feeling them. He backed away.

She fell apart, crying. "Am I not good enough for you?"

What? No. What?

"I'm sorry," she sobbed. "I thought I could make you happy."

"I am happy." Or, he had been. He was trying to withdraw into himself before he got hurt. He couldn't do it fast enough.

"You're still gray."

"But I'm the same guy."

"That's the problem!"

It was quiet, then. Gray or not, it didn't matter. He was still Branch. And Branch was the problem. He couldn't keep the hurt out of his voice. "I thought you liked me?"

She didn't say anything.

She.

Said.

Nothing.

Everything was awful. This was awful. Why had he even bothered. Oh, he was going to be ill. He… She… Nothing. It was all nothing. The bergens would get everyone in the end.

"I mean, you're kinda cute. But you're gray. I thought I could help and you'd get better."

She thought a kiss would magically wash away how many people the bergens had killed, and would kill again once they found this place. A kiss could bring his family back. A kiss would cure the nightmares. Change him into a different troll. Ha. Haha. Ha.

"Branch, I'm really sorry. It was fun while it lasted. I– I'll leave you alone. Sorry for bothering you."

His heart bled. Rivulets of emotion poured from the gash, splattering the grass, pooling around his feet. The last of his colors stained the ground while he quietly, carefully shut himself out. It was peaceful. Sun warmed his skin. Critters rustled through the undergrowth, searching for food and nesting materials. There was no breeze today, but the air was light, bright, clean with a hint of leafy zest.

He had no feelings. There was nothing to be hurt.

After that he withdrew from society for so long people forgot his name.

Branch lounged at the end of the thought staircase. He'd lived long enough to recognize the emotions he was having now. They weren't new to him. And yet… and yet. This time it was different. Because at the bottom of that bleak, dark spiral he didn't find a painful void.

He was standing in a field of flowers.

The poppies were so cheery and bright they blotted out all that came before. Each one a cherished memory of acceptance, companionship, trust, touch. Colorful petals flared with a sunny intensity unlike anything he'd ever experienced. He wanted them to stay and grow and fill him up with positive, intimate memories. He wanted to love and care for them. But the choice wasn't his. He knew he might have to let them go.

He knew, one day, his wish for more would fall from his lips, and he might have to let Poppy go.

Branch ran a hand through his hair with a heavy sigh. "I could really use your advice right about now."

The proud, stern portrait of his father was silent.

Branch wandered around his underground home, unable to focus on any project. His thoughts kept returning to that strawberry smile. What was going to happen when his gem flower bloomed and she moved on? Their time together was coming to an end.

An end.

Everything ended, eventually.

He found himself in his library, the untitled purple scrapbook in hand. Without thinking he set the text on the table and opened the front cover.

> For my sweet son Branch,
> 
> Know that I love you very, very much. Watching you and your brother grow up has been the single most rewarding experience of my entire life, and my only wish is for the two of you to not have to face the fears and struggles we do today. I'm hopeful this will happen, but in the event I don't make it to the other side, this journal is all the things I wish I'd been able to tell you when you were ready.
> 
> Love,  
>  Mom
> 
> P.S. Please take care of your brother. You're so tiny now but I can already tell you're the more responsible one.


	14. Invisible Talks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This week I'm also publishing a Broppy oneshot separate from this story. I'm very happy with it.

Poppy wiggled her toes and checked her hug watch again. It was hardly like Branch to be late, and this was an important announcement. A sea of rainbow hair surrounded the village's central mushroom platform. Not a single strand of it was that particular shade of indigo blue.

The trolls near the front exchanged glances. Some shuffled their feet. Punctuality for events mattered a lot if you wanted everyone's attention. If you didn't start on time, all it took was a minute until trolls became susceptible to fun distractions like falling leaves or a hopping wedge cricket. Her minute was up.

She was confident Branch would take his customary place on stage when he arrived. Excitement for what she was about to unveil coursed through her. She lifted the microphone.

"Whoooo wants to know a secret!" She raised her hand to the sky and confetti burst from both sides of the mushroom. The trolls cheered.

"Then I am excited to announce the construction of Troll Village's first ever home away from home: Trollberg!"

A massive multistory banner unfurled in front of her. She screened herself with her hair and undid the clasp on her dress. The garment pooled around her feet. In one fell sweep she pulled a new gown from her hair and slipped it over upheld arms. Never underestimate the power of the quick change.

Poppy stepped out from behind the mural in a long, slender white dress dipped in sunshine yellow. A shockingly red tropical flower pinned her hair. Bands of seashells on one arm clinked together when she gestured.

Starry-eyed gazes followed her presentation of the plans for Trollberg resort. The art behind her showed lavish decorations, luxurious pods, swirly slides, and fun activities.

"Anyone interested in staying in Trollberg to test how fun it is and make sure it's relaxing enough should come see me. I am looking for a couple trolls to stay there long term too. Is anyone interested now?"

Of course they were. Plenty of hands went up from outgoing trolls excited to try new things. The show of public support was key to encouraging all trolls, even the shy ones, to give the bergen location a shot.

"But Queen Poppy," one of the trolls in the front said. "How is that going to work when the bergens don't like noise, lights, and glitter?"

Realization rippled through the crowd.

"Guys, we can still have fun without those things," she said.

"Can we though? Can we?" a glitter troll asked.

Poppy looked to Branch for reassurance, but he wasn't there.

"Aren't the bergens happier away from us?" someone else asked. "That's why we stayed here, isn't it?"

Another troll added, "I don't want them to not like us!"

She was losing them. Maybe she'd pushed this too soon. The village needed this connection. She knew how important it was, but the words to convince her people it was safe faltered.

As usual, she really needed someone to save her.

"I'll go."

The apprehensive murmurs in the crowd stopped. Trolls parted to make way for the speaker.

"A place for rest, relaxation, and rejuvenation would be wonderful. I'd love to be a part of it," Creek said.

The tension in the atmosphere dissipated.

"Thank you, Creek," she said. She meant it.

"That means I'm in too," Creek's boyfriend Ripple joined his side with a warm smile.

After that others gathered around Creek and Ripple to volunteer their time. Among them Poppy recognized young entrepreneurs who were looking to break out of the village marketplace or had an interest in a craft currently dominated by someone else. This was a really good start.

Poppy finished her speech. "Thank you all for your support. And you know it's not an unveiling without a celebration! Let's get this party started!"

Music and a snow of shiny palm tree sequins blew away any remaining unease. Trolls came on stage to admire the Trollberg art up close.

This was a big deal. It was going to take up a lot of her time to organize construction crews, transports to and from Bergentown, staff for Trollberg, and negotiate the bergen side of things too.

For the rest of the week she fielded questions about the project and took note of who would be good first guests. She visited Bridget and Gristle and checked the tree over.

"Branch isn't with you today?" Gristle asked.

"No, he's busy with something. He gets like that sometimes, holing up to work on a project," Poppy said.

Gristle wasn't the first to ask about Branch. Everyone kept looking to her to see where he was. They worked well as a team, but it was frustrating to be a queen who needed a hand up all the time. If not for Creek the unveiling party would've been a bust.

She had to do better than this. She could, she _would_ be stronger. Once Trollberg construction began she'd have a chance to take a vacation and challenge herself.

By the second week she felt uneasy. The absence at her side developed its own physical presence. A hole that followed her around.

Apparently she wasn't the only one with concerns.

"Biggie, are you okay?" she asked.

The large troll continued to poke his index fingers together. His scrapbook supplies were hardly touched, and he kept avoiding eye contact. Now that she was looking around the club room she realized all her friends had that same awkward attitude.

Biggie said, "Well, it's just that I am a little bit worried. I thought it'd be nice to take Mr. Dinkles on a tour of Butterfly Hills, but when we asked Tug, she said the tour was closed until further notice."

"That's not so bad!" Poppy encouraged Biggie to cheer up. "What about the lagoon tour? Ooo! Or the Glitter River cruise?"

Biggie's mood didn't improve. "Then she told me it was closed until Branch said it was safe again, and she hadn't seen him even though he comes at the exact same time every week."

Poppy pushed back the big gray cloud of doubt. The last time she'd seen Branch, he'd been teaching Keith and his friends how to read bug tracks, a big smile on his face. He was strong and independent. She could picture him out in the fields now, singing to the crops, building some crazy gadget in his bunker, reading a book. Surely he was fine.

"Biggie," she said. "It's Branch. He probably just wanted some alone time."

Suki spoke up. "Poppy, I've been out there twice and he's not answering his door."

"Milton went over for some rare herbs and he wasn't home then, either," Smidge added. "There wasn't even a note."

Then Cooper. "Branch always puts a note up when he goes someplace weird. Believe me, I know."

Poppy had heard enough. "Okay now you guys are freaking me out. None of you have seen him?"

Silence.

"I'm going to go look for him."

"I'll go with you!" Cooper shouted.

"Cooper!" Chenille snapped.

Cooper froze. "Ohhhh. Sorry, I forgot. I have a… dentist appointment."

Poppy went around the village and asked each of Branch's friends, but like Tug none of them had seen him and all of them looked worried. A tight ball of fear wound up in her chest. If something happened to him... no, she wouldn't think like that. Urgency drove her onward.

She headed out of town on the main route to the lookoff, then diverted at the well-worn path to Branch's place, passing the occasional glowshroom he'd planted to light the way for anyone coming or going at night.

The yard was empty. Poppy knocked on the boulder above his hideaway. "Branch?"

No response after a fourth attempt, either. He was missing. Her guts twisted sickeningly and rose up her throat. This wasn't normal alone time. Something wasn't right.

She clambered up onto the rock and looked around, then used her hair to propel herself high enough to see the valley where he grew food. Nothing. He could be out foraging, but...

This situation was familiar. She was pretty sure she knew where he was. A grin broke up the worry inside.

Poppy fumbled around the undergrowth in the yard until she found one of the surveillance periscopes. Then she stood back, arms folded, and stared the thing down. Her hair whipped up and triggered the overhead trip vine of bellflowers. Chimes rang loudly. She strode right up to the boulder and started banging on it.

"Branch! Branch! Branch! Branch!"

Shuffling and clinking below, followed by the whirr of the elevator.

"Go away," came the muffled response.

They'd played this game so many times it was hardly a challenge anymore.

"Ok, I'll go away once you let me in," she said.

"I'm not letting you in."

"Then I'm not going away."

"Poppy…"

"Do you want me to let myself in?" Of course there wasn't an answer. "I'll take that as a yes."

She went over to the hidden control panel in the rock and moved the face plate so she could punch in, "I Heart Gary." The code didn't take the first time. She tried again. None of the old ones worked either. Fortunately Branch's passwords were easy to guess. Probably something like, "Glitter Be Gone," or, "Stop It Poppy."

Nothing. Somehow he'd made a password she couldn't guess.

"Branch, you sly troll. You changed the password on me."

"I disconnected the panel."

Oh.

She contemplated the closed hatch. From experience she knew it couldn't be pried open. The physical barrier between them dawned on her. "You're really not going to let me in, are you?"

"No."

Branch's responses were curt and quiet. He hadn't opened the viewport this whole time. She knelt by the doorstep, full of compassion for the prince who'd locked himself away in an underground tower.

"Everyone's worried about you. What's wrong? Are you sick? Hurt?"

She heard a sort of strangled, "Yes," from below. Which was it? Sick or hurt? Both? It sounded like it could be both. This was serious.

"How bad is it? I'll go get the doctor."

"It's not like that. It's… look, I'm fine. I just can't let you in right now."

He didn't sound fine at all.

Neither of them said anything for a while. The ventilation shaft was booby trapped, but if she borrowed some of Smidge's gear she could probably get through.

"Poppy?"

"Mmm?"

"Could you… come back and visit me tomorrow?"

"You already know I'm going to come back here every day until I get in."

"Thanks." He sounded tired. After a moment she heard the control stick click. The sound of the elevator faded underground.

The next day she rushed through a couple of parties and took a flyer bug to shorten the trip to the bunker. They hadn't set a time so she stuck with yesterday's.

"I'm back," she said. "Are you down there or do I need to knock?"

"I'm here."

"I brought you some sandwiches." She placed the large wrapped leaf in front of the doorstep.

"Nice try," Branch said with a ghost of amusement. An improvement over yesterday.

"At least let me see your handsome face so I know you're alright."

"Not gonna fall for flattery either."

Well, there was always tomorrow. Poppy rolled out a picnic set, careful to make as much noise as possible. Fwip, checkered blanket, krrrsh, picnic basket, fwump sitting down. She crinkled the leaf wrapper on her sandwich. The brown rectangle in the ground was a perfect lunch partner. Quiet. Angular. Did she mention brown?

A tink of cup on plate chimed under the floor door. Branch must be drinking tea down there, back against the tunnel wall, maybe wearing one of his robes. Then again he could be wearing bunny pajamas for all she knew. Or nothing. Robe! Robe. Definitely a robe.

The voice underneath the trap door said, "Could you check on the flowers by the path?"

"I thought you kept cutting those down." She looked.

 _Clack_.

The sandwich leaf was gone. "Oh come on!"

"Sorry," came the quiet response.

Poppy took a frustrated bite out of her lunch. "You're being very difficult right now," she vocalized through the mouthful of bread. Her invisible companion didn't rise to the heated comment. She could hear him unwrapping the sandwiches.

When Branch decided to speak, he was flat and reserved. "Remember when you knocked me into the glitter booth at the market?"

"You were so mad."

At the time she'd recently taken charge of some of the smaller festivals. She and her friends went to the market for supplies, but upon arrival everyone acted strange. The vendors told her to go to different places than usual or suggested she set up first and come back later.

She was so excited she ignored them, skipping from stall to stall in song and dance. It was only when she saw the sudden shift in Cooper's expression she knew something was off. Her friends urged her to come back, but she kept frolicking backwards, too happy to listen.

The price for not looking where she was going was a full-on collision with a troll coming around the corner. They were both knocked off their feet, the leaf cloaked stranger into a booth loaded with buckets of glitter. While everyone swarmed around her asking if Princess Poppy was okay, Biggie tried to help the other troll up only to have his hand slapped away.

She remembered it well.

"You said, ' _You're_ the Princess?' like you couldn't believe it. And then you got this miserable look on your face and groaned, 'We're all doomed!' I'll never forget it. I knew everyone in the village, Branch. Everyone. But I'd never seen you until that day."

He said, "You kept trying to find me after that. And you didn't even know what a bergen was. I had to tell you."

"Nobody wanted me to know."

"I didn't realize. Back then I thought you were being naive on purpose like everyone else, pretending the world was perfect when it wasn't."

"And I thought you were being stubborn and grumpy because you wanted attention."

Branch mulled this over. Then he said, "So if I act stubborn and grumpy now, can I have your attention?"

"Isn't that what we're doing?"

Branch's little laugh echoed in the cavern. She was getting through to him. They talked for a bit, about the past, about the future, about nothing in particular. She'd missed this. She'd missed him. Hopefully he would come out soon.

"Same time tomorrow?" she asked.

"You know where to find me."

The third day Poppy couldn't get away from the festivities. Every time she tried to sneak out a new problem emerged. Someone lost track of Keith, the party streamers were late, a hug watch went missing, and so on.

By the time she escaped it was far into the hug hour. She bunched up the elaborate costume she was in and hopped side-saddle onto the flyer bug.

"Branch! Branch! Sorry I'm late." She stumbled off her ride at the bunker. There was something up against the boulder waiting for her. Shoot. If that was a present it made her bad timing even worse.

"I'm glad you came," he said below ground, voice tinged with relief.

This outfit was not meant for casual chilling out. Beaded bracelets and jewelry covered her from head to toe. The long, flared skirts had multiple layers and feathered trim, which, while pretty, was starting to itch. She felt constricted by the form-fitting bodice and its series of small clasps that ran up the back. To top it all off, large rainbow plumes attached to the dress kept tickling her.

None of this was stuff you noticed when full of party energy, but when you wanted to sit down it became a drag.

Poppy ruffled around in the multicolored costume, detaching the plumes into a pile. She wanted out. Now.

"What's all that noise?" Branch asked.

"Gotta change. Gimme a sec."

It wasn't the type of thing you could get in and out of in a jiffy. She shed the jewelry and turned her attention to the dress itself. Without a mirror it was tough to undo the back. Why didn't this thing have a zipper?

She twisted and turned, trying to reach the little clasps with her hands. When that failed she used her hair, which would have been fine if she could see.

She felt out the location of a clasp with a finger and tried to guide a strand of hair through that way. After undoing one, she snagged her locks on the second. She left the hair there and tried the third clasp with new strands. These caught too.

Better try a different method.

She put up a privacy bubble and held her arms up to tug off the garment. Since the back was still clasped shut it wouldn't go past her waist, but the skirts came up around her like a backwards mushroom. She giggled at how ridiculous this was, standing there with a half inside-out dress pulled up over her head. It fell back down to the starting point.

Somehow she managed to get one arm out of a sleeve, but not out of the dress itself. Her arm was scrunched against her chest beneath the fabric. So there she was, laughing hopelessly, a one-winged chicken in a dress.

"Branch, I'm stuck."

"What do you mean, you're stuck?"

Poppy dropped the hair screen. "Look," she laughed. She heard Branch get up and move to the wall with the periscopes.

"How did you?..."

"I seriously can't get out." She couldn't stop laughing at how stupid this was.

"Try lifting it over your head."

"That's how I got here. Could you please just help me? I can't undo the back."

"Fine. Just… cover your eyes."

"Really? Ugh. Alright," she said, voice still shining with mirth. She turned her back to the door and wrapped a hair blindfold over her eyes.

She heard the viewport slide open and a swishing sound. A soft brush flickered over her back, followed by tugging.

"This might take a minute. I can barely see the clasps in the camera."

One bit of her hair came free. Then the movement along the dress stopped. Branch muttered something and a second tendril swished out of the viewport. The fuzzy fibers worked with precision to undo some of the hooks. Poppy held on to her chest to stabilize the dress while the tugging continued. A huge stupid grin wouldn't leave her lips.

Suddenly everything went still.

"Branch?"

"..."

Poppy felt around back with her free hand and discovered new knots, each creating a guitar string back to its owner.

"Oh my gosh. You're stuck too. Hahahaha!"

"I'm coming up. Keep your eyes covered," Branch growled, none too happy. Poppy thought it was hilarious.

The trapdoor clicked open and the psh psh of grass steps brought Branch up behind her. His deft fingers untangled her hair first, then his. She snorted, picturing Branch's silken blue strands weaved from the dress to the viewport and back again in a V while he tried to free himself, a look of annoyed concentration on his face.

"Seriously, who designed this?" he grumbled, crystal clear and close.

"Chenille."

"She did this on purpose."

Branch unhooked each clasp. The blindfold made her hyper aware of his solid presence and the focused, precise movement of his hands. His touch was cool on her skin, lacking the warmth she'd become accustomed to. It was then she knew for sure the reason he wouldn't let anyone see him.

"Think you can get it off now?" he asked.

"Definitely."

He hesitated.

All of her instincts screamed to drop the blindfold and hug him, but doing so would betray the trust he'd put in her. She stood there while he retreated back into the subterranean cocoon and shut the door.

A pang of loneliness hit her so hard she had to sit down.

She put up a bubble and quickly finished changing. Then she hugged her knees into her chest and waited for an embrace that never came.

And waited.

"I didn't scare you, did I?" Branch's voice was muffled once again by the obstacles between them.

Poppy sighed and let her hair slide back into place. "It's not you, it's me."

"Well that makes me feel _so_ much better."

Sarcasm. One of the many elements of a healthy Branch. With a little more patience she'd get him back. Her spirits lifted thinking about how satisfying this particular hug was going to be when she finally won it.

Poppy went over to the sunny spot by the boulder and noticed the griddled object she'd forgotten in the frenzy to change. It was an acorn cap.

Not sure what to expect, she lifted it up. A wooden plate and fork sat in the grass. Upon it was a rectangle of delicious layers stacked one on top of the other, like a candy bar. Or a cake? She'd never seen a dessert like it: crispy graham bottom, striped centers of white, green, and cocoa, topped with a generous drizzle of golden honey. A luscious red honeyflower decorated one end of the bar.

"It's one of my mom's recipes."

That made Poppy nervous. The only family recipe she'd tried was his grandma's fluffleberry cake, and that was, well, an acquired taste. Nobody except Branch had been able to stomach it.

She pushed the fork through the tasty-looking but potentially terrible treat. It took some force to cut into the bar. She lifted the piece to her lips and took a bite.

Rich, warm flavors awoke her senses. Tender honey sweetness wrapped around chocolate gave way to a soft vanilla cream. A delicate, indescribable flavor snuggled with the vanilla. The wonderful experience blended into smooth cocoa graham.

Poppy sliced another piece and closed her eyes.

It tasted like love.

She savored every bite, torn between eating the last piece and holding on to it forever.

Branch could make more. The bar was probably cut from a pan. He might have more down there now. Would it be greedy to ask?

"Um. You wouldn't happen to have another one of these, would you?"

He chuckled. "I do. Be right back."

This time he didn't ask her to close her eyes, but she was on the wrong side of the door anyway. It opened enough for Branch to push a covered baking dish out. "Don't make yourself sick. These are to share."

She brought back a piece of heaven for the group. And at home, while the flavor of love melted on her tongue, Poppy made one, small, secret wish.

To be more than friends.

The next afternoon she decided to walk. The leisurely pace gave her time to clear her mind, smell the refreshing woodsy aroma. Leaf shade dappled the path. A pin-striped bumble beetle sunned itself on a leaf, occasionally flipping its wings open to call friends over. Everywhere she looked she saw hidden signs of life. All it would take to bring it out was a song.

She played something bright and relaxed.

The world revealed itself bit by bit. Dormant plants perked up and hummed as she passed. Chime bugs came out of their nests to follow her, adding jingles to the music. Tiny fuzzies pounced upon each other at her feet. Despite the afternoon hour even the glowshrooms rustled a bit to the tune. Branch must come out here often to sing to them.

By the time she reached his house she had an entourage.

The woods parted to reveal the large gray boulder, and there, at its base, a single troll. He leaned against the rock the way he always did: arms folded, one leg bent, a slight smile playing over his face.

The last chord faded. Critters melted back into the forest, rejuvenated. A few tumbled out onto the lawn to play. Poppy crossed the grass, put her flowering ukulele away, and brushed a stray bang back into place.

"Hi."

"Hey."

~~~~~~

He rested his head on Poppy's shoulder and held her close, feeling the last traces of gray lift from his heart.

When he'd opened his mom's scrapbook, he'd expected a scrapbook. Instead of cardstock there was paper; instead of pictures, words. Pages and pages of clear, handwritten words. He'd only seen one other book like it – his personal journal.

Somehow across time and space they shared this connection.

She'd written about everything. He'd read it all. Friendship, death, having kids, not having them, songs, recipes, love, sex, spirituality, family history, the origin of his name. The writing minced no words and wasted no breaths. It was a kind of poetry, a mother's final lullaby to the child left behind.

All the parts of himself he'd never been able to explain, that was her. The quiet enjoyment he got out of nature, the satisfaction of harvesting something he'd grown through hard work and care, his secret passion for poetic language, the prepared foresight that led to writing such a book in the first place. Even the rebellious spark that drove him to do things other trolls considered weird or crazy came from her, his mother, a troll so hopeful for the future and so full of love she'd been willing to have him in spite of the world's dangers. Knowing she might not be able to stay. Prepared if she couldn't.

He finally understood precisely who he'd lost. It was a pain worse than any he'd ever known.

He let it exist.

By embracing it he gained something. Even though his family was gone, in a way they lived on. They were still there in the way he spoke, the things he did, the values he had. He was nothing if not the product of a long line of trolls who were the first to fight when danger arose. The first to defend.

He knew he'd never be like the other trolls. He'd always be more cautious, willful, and unbending than they were. He accepted it.

At last he stopped running from himself.

And so it was there in the safe circle of Poppy's arms that he finally, finally felt free.

The next morning his troll gem flower bloomed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I scatter a handful of details about the past these two share throughout the story. In Unspoken the pair did not spend tons of time together pre-Trolls movie. Their earlier interactions are novel (yay!) and worthy of being a separate fic, but I'm not sure if I'll write it.


	15. Suspended in Midhair

Branch's gem had a practical, down-to-earth rectangular cut with soft beveled edges and a beautiful turquoise color. It suited him perfectly. Poppy was relieved it hadn't taken the shape of a spiked ball or a skull. Finally she could stop having that horrible vision of presenting a jawed trap jewel that encouraged him to get back into old habits.

Poppy lifted the gem out of its colorful blossom and placed it on a carrying pillow. The party factory would need to see it to design invitations.

Sky Toronto did not disappoint. Every invitation was a cupcake crowned by a gummy version of Branch's troll gem. She should have recognized the potential danger here, but she was too thrilled to notice. Just like the day she met Branch, her ability to be clumsy at the most inopportune moment kicked in. She dropped the real gem in with the gummies. The cupcakes were out the door for delivery before she could stop them.

If Branch heard about this he'd tease her until the end of time. He'd be pulling that gem out of gray-streaked hair, "Hey Poppy, remember this? Remember how you lost it? Remember?"

Poppy hit the village running. She collected Cooper and Smidge along the way and the three of them tried to track down the original. It escalated into a game of cupcake slapping. When they finally found the gem, the worst possible thing happened.

Branch's gem slapped into a tree and shattered.

They could grow a new one. If they didn't want to wait a few months, all they had to do was make Branch ridiculously happy in the next hour before the ceremony.

They tried compliments, cute stuff, and tickling. Nothing was enough. Maybe Bridget was right. Maybe she _should_ kiss him. Wait, no, that would just freak him out. The gem day ceremony needed to start now. With reluctance Poppy explained the fate of the broken gem to Branch. He was crestfallen.

But she already knew how to fix this. She'd given away a piece of herself before. She'd do it again.

"I'm really sorry," she said quietly. "I know how much today means to you, and you can't have a gem day without a gem, so…" she held out hers, "take mine."

The heart-shaped treasure in her hand made the scene sadly familiar. Maybe she was silly and overoptimistic for thinking this time would be different. She believed her gem would be cared for. She'd thought that about her heart too.

Branch did the unexpected. He turned her down. His hand was soft on hers as he pressed her gem to her chest. "Poppy, no. This is too important to you. You can't give me your gem."

He wouldn't take it? Her happiness mattered that much to him?

"Yeah Poppy, you shouldn't do that," Smidge said. "Take my gem, Branch."

"No, take mine," Cooper said.

One by one friends offered the little crystallized piece of their spirit to the troll who'd lost his way for so long. Branch was overcome with emotion.

A glow lit from the pot they'd tried to grow a new flower in. Seedling leaves sprouted and strengthened, supporting a brand new blossom. The petals opened around Branch's gem.

Everyone hurried to their places. The whole village was waiting. Poppy centered herself on stage, made opening remarks, and then it was time. "Branch. It is my honor as your queen, and as your friend, to present you with your gem. May it always shine as bright as your joyful spirit."

On evenings like these everyone brought their gems. The trolls raised their voices in song and the land glowed in every hue. The celebration began soon after. Branch probably would've appreciated a smaller gathering, but she knew so many trolls were excited to see him succeed that a big party was necessary to accommodate all the guests. She wanted him to know he was loved.

Trolls swarmed Branch with congratulations. Smidge, Cooper, and Milton stayed close by to make sure he didn't get mobbed too hard. The teal troll they were protecting was all smiles and laughter. Tomorrow he'd be back to dry humor and caution, she knew.

She enjoyed one of the desserts from the party factory and chatted with partygoers while she waited for a break in the commotion surrounding Branch. When he got scooped up and sent body surfing on a sea of fuzzy waves she realized there wasn't going to be a break.

It was well past the last hug time of the evening when she heard his voice over the fray.

"Poppy! Poppy over here!" Branch waved her down from within the crowd. He'd lost his bodyguards to the dance floor.

She moved through the throng of trolls like cold molasses. The ceremonial dress had a wide train easy for others to step on. Every time she felt resistance she had to stop and wait. "'Scuse me, queen coming through. Dream queen passing by. Thanks everyone."

Eventually she made it. Branch was relieved to see her.

"Okay people," she said. "Branch has to head home for tonight—"

The inner circle aww'ed with disappointment.

"—but that doesn't mean the party needs to end!" she winked. The trolls perked up.

Going back out was a bit easier with him on one side to wall off wandering feet. Poppy smirked at how Branch held his long robe up so he wouldn't trip on it, eyes trained on the ground. He was like a fine lady coming down the stairs in a dress, except instead of surveying the crowd the lady was determined to stomp out the fire on each step with her stocky warrior woman legs.

"How do you manage this?" he wondered aloud.

"Hold the skirts up like you're doing. Trust other people not to step on you. Patience. Depends on the situation."

"I'm changing first chance I get."

He wasn't joking. Shortly after they exited the eye of the storm Branch balled himself up and emerged with the gem robe folded over one arm. "Should I wash this?"

"Nah, I'll take it. Timpani handles the washing." Poppy reclaimed the outfit. It was slightly damp.

"Cooper dumped punch all over me. I managed to escape the glitter at least." Branch ran a hand through his hair and sighed with a big grin, his ears drooping sleepily. "I'm beat. I better go home and wash off."

He yawned, unable to cover up the exhaustion. She imagined him grabbing a leaf off the side of the road and napping outside once he was out of eyesight, too tired to go all the way to the bunker but too proud to ask a friend to stay over.

"Are you sure you're okay to walk back by yourself?" she asked. "You could stay at my pod tonight."

Branch bolted upright like she'd dumped ice cubes down his vest. Slowly he relaxed. "What, like a sleepover?"

"Yeah, but with less fun and games. I'm tired too. And I'm not about to invite Smidge over so she can wake me up super early with her morning routine."

"My stuff is back at the bunker," Branch protested halfheartedly.

"I've got extras."

Too drained to argue or overthink it, he yielded. On the way to the troll tree he grabbed the first suitable sleeping leaf he saw.

Branch followed her through the open doorway. He'd been in here a thousand times so there was no need to explain anything. They got ready for bed without saying much.

Apparently Branch hum-sang in the shower, because she could hear him from where she was curled up under the covers. He'd put his sleeping leaf near the unused side of the bed where he wasn't likely to get tripped over. Once upon a time that leaf would've been up against the wall. Now he wanted to be close.

That reality produced a quiet, happy thrill.

When Branch was situated in his leaf she tapped the bedside glowshroom lamp. Except for faint starglow it was dark. It would've been quiet, too, if not for the hushed voices drifting along the tree path across the way.

"Is Poppy having a sleepover without us?"

"She wouldn't do that, Biggie," Smidge said.

"But I saw Branch with a rolled up leaf earlier. Did we miss the invitation?" Biggie asked.

"We can always check."

"Smidge wait! What if they are in there together? What if they're," Biggie's voice became barely audible, "holding hands?"

At this point Branch shifted on the floor. "Guys! We can hear you, y'know," he said loud enough for it to carry. Outside there was a flurry of embarrassed surprise and giggles as the two friends scrambled down the tree path towards Biggie's pod. Branch blew a sort of amused huff through his nose and settled back down.

Poppy had the biggest ear-to-ear grin. She rolled over to the other side of the mattress and peered down. "How 'bout it Branch? Wanna hold hands?" She dangled her arm over the edge.

His response was light and affectionate. "Quit playing around, Poppy." He batted her hand away. "Go to bed."

She laughed and turned away, feeling the impossible twinkle within. It was always there now.

Sleep came easy. She drifted off, nestled in a cozy feeling of safety knowing Branch was nearby. The side of the bed closer to him was definitely better.

x x x

The blanket was fresh and crisp, not the well-worn supple fabric of his sleeping pallet. How desperate was the situation that he didn't have it? His hand hit soft fibers on the ground. Weird. Stranger yet, he had a pillow – a nice one by the feel of it.

His vision opened to a brightly colored world. His still half-asleep mind flickered in panic between this not being his bunker and not any wilderness he recognized. Then the rest of his brain decided to say good morning and he remembered he was at Poppy's. Sleepovers still tended to surprise him like this.

Was she awake yet? He didn't hear her moving around. Even for a Troll Village morning it was quiet.

Branch lay on his side and took the turquoise troll gem from his hair. His troll gem. He'd given up hope of ever having one. Then Poppy changed his heart and he wondered if it might be possible after all.

He touched the jewel to his nose, expecting it to be cool and instead being greeted by warmth. Crystallized joy. Of course. He held proof he was capable of heartfelt happiness, which also meant he could love. Really, truly love. He wondered if Poppy realized this at all.

As much as he wanted to think last night's joke about holding hands was special banter just for him, logic dictated Poppy would have made the same joke with any close friend. If Guy had been in his place it would've been no different. Well, except Guy wouldn't be tempted to take Poppy's hand and pull her onto the floor with him.

Branch put away his gem and pushed himself up, still a bit groggy. He rubbed his eyes and glanced at the bed. Poppy was sitting up, lost in thought.

"Poppy, can we t—"

She jumped and slapped her hair over his mouth, cramming a finger to her lips to shush him. She'd noticed the unnatural quiet of the village too. Branch dropped into alert mode. He scanned the room for anything out of place and listened.

Poppy took her hair back and signaled him to relax with her palms open, pushing the air down. Then she held up a finger. She wanted him to wait. She got out of bed and took the calendar off the wall, bringing it over to point out the date. A sticker of a speech bubble with an X through it marked the holiday.

A day with no talking? Was writing allowed? Branch mimed holding a pencil and writing on his open palm. Poppy shook her head no.

Compelled to figure out the rules, he got up and picked a scrapbook from a cubbyhole, opening to a middle page. He pointed at a word. Her response was negative. He pointed at a papercraft troll. This was okay.

So: no words of any kind, but actions, pictures, and drawings were allowed.

What about singing? He strummed an imaginary guitar and Poppy nodded yes, but when he opened his mouth she grabbed his hand and silently shushed him again.

He definitely wanted to see what the village was like today.

Now that she had his hand, Poppy led him into the kitchen and bade him sit at the two-person dining table. The room was small but well organized to fit everything a cook could want.

Branch watched the pink sprite dance her way through pancakes and fresh fruit as if she'd already been awake for hours. Somehow she avoided getting batter on her long sleeved pajama top and bottom, which, he noted, were loose-fitting and lightweight. The comfortable pajamas and slightly mussed hair made her look snuggly.

Though if you wanted to cuddle a pixie you had to catch it first, and this one was impossible to pin down.

Poppy poured batter into a pan and cast a glance over her shoulder to see what he was up to. Since the answer to that was "looking at you," he simply raised his eyebrows. With a smirk she turned back to their breakfast.

Both hug watches chimed. Poppy set a plate of two large pancakes doused in redberry sauce in front of him. A spiral dollop of whipped cream peaked the cakes. Before she retrieved her own plate she gave him a little side hug and pressed her cheek into his hair.

An overwhelming surge of affection tugged his heart. He didn't remember reaching up to hold the hand draped over his shoulder. He let go. Bubbles were rising, rising in his chest, threatening to burst into song.

The pancakes were light and fluffy. Tart crushed redberries tamed with sugar made him crave more. He poured extra sauce from the pitcher plant over his pancakes. She'd made this for him. Only him. Nobody else was here. Without words to describe how much he appreciated a homemade breakfast, he was limited to a nonverbal, "Mmmm."

Poppy laughed, her sparkling eyes saying, "Well I'm glad you like it."

She made him so happy. He couldn't shake the warm feeling swelling inside his heart. He didn't want to.

He chased down remaining sauce with the last bit of pancake. Then he took the dishes to the sink and started cleaning up, wiping a couple of batter spatters off the counter, washing the mixing bowl. Poppy brought her empty plate over and rewarded him with another quick hug before exiting the kitchen.

A life together could be like this.

He flipped through the cabinets to figure out where the mixing bowl went and kept track of where everything was as he did so. He hoped he'd get a chance to use the knowledge in the future.

The felted bathroom door was closed when he finished, so he took the time to put away his makeshift bed and brush out his hair. He stepped outside to feel the sun and see what was happening in the treetop this morning.

This proved to be a mistake.

Biggie and Smidge were playing a game of cards over by the crook in the tree path, waiting to see who came out of Poppy's pod. They were joined by a very bright, very glittery Guy Diamond. Guy jabbed his elbow into Smidge's side. Biggie's cheeks couldn't be any more red.

Frankly Branch was surprised the three of them hadn't barged in earlier. It was rare for his friends, or any troll for that matter, to show that kind of self-restraint. Especially Guy.

Unless…

Did they think he and Poppy were…?

Oh no. Oh no no no.

Branch put his palms up in self-defense and shook his head, wide-eyed. This was not what it looked like.

Guy snatched Smidge's hand, pointed to their clasped fingers, and then at Poppy's pod.

Branch shook his head no.

Guy kissed Smidge on the cheek.

No!

Branch protested vehemently, but there was no stopping Guy. The glitter troll cupped Smidge's surprised face in his hands and turned her to face him, making kissy lips. Smidge burned Guy down with a death glare. Guy then looked at Biggie, who wasn't willing to demonstrate either. Not with his face buried in Mr. Dinkles.

By the time Poppy came outside, Branch was flailing wildly, trying to hammer a nail into the mud that was Guy's mind.

Everybody froze. All eyes turned to the cheery but confused queen.

Mr. Dinkles violated the holiday's one rule.

"Meep."

Branch couldn't understand worm, but he could guess what Mr. Dinkles said based on the unparalleled blush that raged over Poppy's face. Even her ears were red.

Nobody moved.

After an eternity Smidge threw her hands in the air, stomped over, parted her hair down the middle, wrapped one half around Poppy and the other around him. The solid wood under his feet flew away.

The next thing he knew, he was floating in the air on his stomach, arms bound to his sides. A few feet away Poppy was in the same boat. Slow and steady she drifted closer. Specifically her face was getting closer to his.

Branch struggled to free his arms but Smidge was too powerful. Poppy's expression was locked in shock. He looked into her eyes but she wasn't seeing him at all. Wide white circles rimmed with beautiful thick eyelashes.

Their noses were getting dangerously close to touching. Poppy snapped out of her stupor, a rush of unclear emotions flickering over her features. She settled on a weak, apologetic smile.

At the last moment Branch braced his hair against the mint circle holding Poppy and tried to push back. Hair-to-hair he couldn't match Smidge's strength but he had to try. He screwed his eyes shut and turned his head away as best he could. Poppy's nose would press to his skin, and then– and then–

He didn't feel her. Nothing happened.

His feet were on the tree and he could breathe again. Silk strands unwound.

Smidge put Branch and Poppy down with plenty of distance apart. She thrust her open hands at the two of them while staring down Guy and Biggie as if to say, "See? See? Are you happy now?" She folded her arms.

Branch felt irritation kick in. Maybe – and it was a big maybe – teasing would've been tolerable if there really was something going on. He didn't appreciate the reminder Poppy didn't want to kiss him, obviously hadn't even thought about him that way. So yeah, thanks for that guys.

Branch rubbed between his eyes and threw a hand out before storming off.

What a wonderful morning, ruined.

He explored the village for ways to brighten his dour mood. Mushroom square was full of trolls doing usual troll things: playing games, performing music, sharing, dancing, chasing each other with the gross thing of the day pierced on the end of a stick. He squinted. What was that? It was long, floppy, and slimy.

Daily life without words was fascinating.

One troll gave another a picture-only invitation. An invitation may or may not end up in a hug; today it always did. There were lots of little gestures and touches. Every action had to be simple and direct or it could be confused. Good luck if you wanted to communicate any complex thought or feeling.

Branch continued on to the market, curious how trades worked when no one could talk. He didn't quite make it before the sound of four-footed cavorting caught up.

Cooper craned his neck and studied Branch's expression, then offered one of his blue feet. Wary about falling into another trap, Branch ignored it, but Cooper wiggled his toes, insisting.

He sighed and took Cooper's foot. Cooper moved Branch's hand to the soft striped fur. It really was unbelievably fluffy with a soothing, calming effect. The fuzziness made him feel a bit better. He felt the corners of his mouth lift, which seemed to be what Cooper wanted. The leggy troll raced around in circles and pointed to where Harper was painting portraits.

Cooper pushed Branch behind Harper's easel and made a ridiculous face: a wide, toothy grin, tongue lolling out of his mouth, eyes crossed. Cooper snapped back to normal silly and pointed at Branch. He was supposed to make a face too?

He tried a couple of the forced smiles that looked weird, but nothing was goofy enough to satisfy Cooper. Branch wasn't sure what to do. He tipped his head in question.

Cooper pulled a large palm frond from his hat. He fanned Branch with it. Frond, huh? He needed to relax. Chill out. Let go.

He rolled his shoulders and shook to loosen up.

Branch puffed his cheeks and slapped his hands over them, cramming them together until his lips were mushed into a squiggly line. He crossed his eyes, quirked his ears up as high as they could possibly go, and stuck out his tongue.

Harper burst out laughing. Cooper took his place beside Branch.

Harper hurried to capture the fleeting moment. Branch held the pose and hoped his eyes didn't get stuck. They were starting to hurt. Eventually he made out a blur that was Harper's thumbs up. She hung the canvas on the drying wall with the others.

Branch observed the art while Cooper drowned Harper in a fluffy hug. There were a couple of other funny images, but the one of him and Cooper was absolutely outlandish. Harper focused on their faces, filling the whole canvas that way. The top diagonal featured Cooper's buggy-eyes, ooo'ing mouth, and droopy ears; the perfect counterpart to Branch's upturned lobes and mooshed face.

He'd never seen himself like this. He couldn't remember making a funny expression that didn't involve some other troll's hands on his face. A smile broadened over his lips. Nobody looking at the wall would believe that was him, but the colors were unmistakable. Harper nailed them. The scrapbooker in Poppy would be jealous.

Cooper got distracted by a shiny flicker nearby, leaving Branch to have a mini gesture conversation with Harper to make sure their portrait found its way to Cooper's mushroom if the goofball forgot to pick it up later.

Afterwards he was free to browse the market stalls. Nobody put their signs up today. Fabric, tape, and leaves covered up names and words on permanent establishments. Not so much as a single name card for an item was visible, much less a menu. Choosing items involved a lot of pointing. Tug's tourist kiosk was closed. Come to think of it, Branch had seen her earlier at mushroom square sweating bullets over being speechless.

He met up with Milton for lunch. He expected conversation would be minimal, but Milton flicked out a deck of cards and placed four face up. The first was a generic blue troll (Milton pointed at Branch), the second a generic pink troll, the third a party hat, and the fourth a question mark. What happened after the party last night?

Milton pushed the deck across the table.

Branch thumbed through and chose a starry moon card, a sleeping bag leaf, and a ZZZ snooze, then handed the deck back.

Milton wasted no time in swapping the trolls on the table with a picture of two hands clasped next to the question mark. This again? Really? Branch shook his head. Milton laughed and swept up the cards, switching the topic. They had to improvise a few times with doodles but sticking to the premade images made the conversation entertaining and challenging, like a two-person puzzle.

Afterwards Branch headed to the river beach. He'd already slept in his clothes. Treating them as swim material was just another thing on the list before they got washed.

He picked a spot further away from the main group of trolls and let his mind focus on molding rough grains into a row of identical cubes, one after the other. The kids would probably enjoy stamping on them later. Or the adults for that matter. Or, uh, him. Smush. Yep. Satisfying.

Now covered in sand and hot from the sun, Branch slid into the cold water and ducked under, letting it flow through his hair. He resurfaced and moved upstream deeper into the woods, sandy banks turning to pebbles and then earth and grass. The river passed underneath a fallen log and wound its way through the woods. If he swam far enough he'd reach the underground source it sprang from closer to the bunker.

Branch paddled to shore and clambered over the grass lip. He wrung out his hair and listened to the forest. Bright notes of a stringed instrument echoed off the trees. He wandered closer to the village, ear tuned for the sound.

The strings played again, repeating the same line. It was a call and response. Nobody sang the lyrics, but he could still hear them in the tune.

 _Hey there, hey there  
_ _Can you hear me out there?_

Branch stopped. This time far off to the left Cooper's harmonica answered with the second line.

 _Hey there, hey there  
_ _I can hear you out there_

Yet Cooper wasn't the one the seeker was looking for because there was a pause before the ukulele strummed through the first line again.

Branch sifted through his hair for the instrument instantly recognizable as him: a hand-carved vertical wooden flute. Lightweight. Made good kindling in a pinch.

The flute's low, haunting tone hummed through the trees and the ukulele answered it back. Poppy was looking for him.

 _It's me, it's me  
_ _I've been waiting for you_

 _I'm here, I'm here  
_ _I've been waiting for you too_

He followed the call back to town, piping on the flute in the musical gaps to show he was on the way. They found each other in the quieter section of the village where the road to the lookoff began.

Poppy looked him over head to toe and raised an eyebrow at his wet hair. She seemed satisfied with the inspection. Was she checking on him after that morning's incident? He wanted to ask if she was okay too, but Poppy was already leading him by the hand to a caravan of heavy duty delivery beetles.

Smidge and the stronger trolls loaded the open bugs with construction materials. Without a doubt the supplies were headed to Bergentown. Branch hurried over to help a troll struggling to lift an unbalanced stack of support beams off a flatbacked transport bug.

He'd missed the Trollberg planning during the days spent coping underground. Branch worried about whether Poppy had thought the move through. Sending this much over a great distance was dangerous. Tools, equipment, and critters filled the caravan. Provisions and entertainment items were distributed across a couple of beetles in case one failed. She'd considered something like that?

He looked at her.

Poppy's hair formed a set of steps trolls used to get in and out of the last beetle. She held a half-eaten sandwich in one hand and used the other to thank the catering service, directing them where to set up food for the helpers. Then she held the sandwich in her mouth so she could retrieve a clipboard and pen to make notes.

Her gaze flicked up to meet his across the field. He realized he was staring, standing there with a supply crate suspended in his hair. He finished loading boxes of rainbow building fiber into a nearby beetle.

The delivery train was packed and set to leave in the morning. Everyone gathered around the food while Poppy went to the front of the caravan. Branch broke off from the group to check on her.

She used the little gestures he'd seen all day to communicate. She took his hand and patted the back of it, waved at the scene behind them, and pointed to him. She wanted him to lead the group.

Branch lifted up their joined hands. Together?

Poppy shook her head.

She was sending him away.

Branch stepped back. The journey one way would be three, four days on foot under heavy load. He circled a finger around his hug watch. How long would they be at Bergentown when they got there?

She held up seven fingers. A week. Then she closed her fists and presented the same number.

Branch took another step back. All in all they'd be apart for three weeks if he agreed. Too long. That was loo long. She'd been buttering him up all morning to ask so much.

He couldn't...

Poppy sighed and took him by the shoulders, turning him to face the trolls enjoying refreshments. The group shied away from the edge of the forest, some of them casting wary glances in that direction, wondering what tomorrow would bring. The delivery beetles sensed the unease. The lead bug shuffled its weight from one foot to the other.

Poppy tapped his chest three times. They. Need. You.

He looked at the trolls, then at Poppy, then back at the trolls. He felt his shoulders sag and ears dip as his resolve crumbled. In defeat he slowly nodded.

Poppy's genuine, radiant smile made him regret leaving the village even more.

She slipped gentle hands under his, guiding them up and together. She waited to see if he'd pull back or resist, but he didn't, so she closed her eyes, brought his hands to her lips, and kissed them.

Branch's mind went blank.

Poppy's hands supported his, her lips ever so lightly pressed to his fingers, her nose brushing his skin. She let go but he was still there, still seeing pink-on-teal, still feeling her touch. A vision of a queen bidding her knight farewell.

In a dream Poppy whistled, calling the royal flyer bug down from the sky. She passed the reins to him, along with a rolled up copy of the construction blueprints.

He was doing this, then. He was doing it, and when he got back, he was going to use his words.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jonny Lipford’s [YouTube channel](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Mm9GHA2P4Lg&list=OLAK5uy_n13Rj03wtCLpMradAgMT8ng3TFoiGpkVw&index=9&t=0s) gives the best impression of what a branch flute sounds like in modern music. The handmade look of a branch flute shows up better in an image search.


	16. Journey to Trollberg

That morning he'd gone ahead and scouted the day's journey by air. His plan was to get everyone to Bergentown in three days, but if he spotted potential trouble a delay couldn't be helped.

The royal flyer bug was fast, much faster than any bug he'd been on. She had thick bands of color ringed along her streamlined body, feathered antennae, and four translucent wings that were a blur in flight. Her speed was in part due to her small size. Only one troll could ride.

When the convoy departed Branch took the lead, Smidge held the rear guard, and Cooper was around… somewhere. They followed the Bergentown bus route. In theory it was safe, but a caterbus was a significantly faster critter than the transports. As far as he was concerned, they were a slow-moving rainbow target that needed to stop and rest each night. A target that happened to be of the novelty singing and dancing persuasion.

The first leg of the trip was the easiest and morale would still be high so he pushed the pace.

Orange and red spongy stalks opened up to flat, packed earth and towering trunks stripped bare of all leaves. The trunks pierced the clouds. Among the shorter stakes it was possible to see thick mats of nesting material. Monoptic birds flocked here. With only one eye the predators weren't terribly good at spotting prey, but they were attracted to noise.

He'd do a full musical number in his bunny pajamas on top of mushroom square before he let any stinking bird swipe someone away. Branch clicked on a megaphone and turned to address the group while it was still safe. "Alright, listen up."

Everyone put their singing on hold.

"New game: we're going to play telephone." He got cheers for that. "Everyone who plays gets to have fun. Everyone who doesn't play, dies."

The trolls exchanged looks, shrugging and giggling at what they figured was weird dark Branch humor. Which it was. "Sounds fair to me!" someone in the middle said.

"Road trip rule: don't share the original message until you get the megaphone. I'll start."

He whispered to the first troll an alliterative story about singing spiders. It was sure to be mangled beyond recognition by the time it circled both sides of the convoy.

They traveled in blissful silence. If he'd told them to be quiet it would've lasted five minutes. The game, on the other hand, kept them occupied through the worst territory and then some. Save the occasional stifled laugh there was no singing, no music, and no talking.

Redirection was Poppy's technique, not his. He'd seen her use it dozens of times. Mess up a party? Point out the better one over there. Keep kids out of the cookies? Show them a cool party trick. Massive society-wide panic? Hit the cowbell and start a song.

Her people skills were remarkable. He wished she were here. At least her tricks worked when he used them.

The convoy reached the red thorn thicket near sundown. Branch passed down the megaphone, everyone getting a good laugh at the garbled telephone messages. Inside the prickly confines of red and white barbs they broke camp, cutting into the food and water supply.

Branch was immediately grateful for Poppy's decision to include Cooper. Bored trolls were a liability. Cooper was a fountain of fun. Any time the crew spent too long thinking of what to do next, Cooper jumped in with a suggestion. At the moment he had everyone twisting candy cane vines into crazy shapes.

Branch dug a knife out of his pack and shaved a long, thin strip from a vine. He stretched it out and it stayed flat. He twisted the ends to make a spiral, and pressed that flat. The twizzle didn't try to spring back up. Poppy would probably like it for scrapbooking. He shucked thorns off of some small vine sections and rolled them into tight coils to take home.

Well, he obviously couldn't stop thinking about Poppy. It was going to be a long three weeks.

To bypass part of the desert they went through the rainbow rain caves. Branch stayed behind the procession for a while because no troll could resist the temptation to frolic in the ripples of liquid color on the cave floors. From the rear he could catch any stragglers. Plus, if he splashed in some puddles too nobody had to know.

_Life is great  
_ _Life is grand  
_ _Don't listen to Branch  
_ _Don't listen to Branch_

He picked up the megaphone. "Yeah can we change the song to literally anything else?"

"But it's _so_ catchy," Smidge complained.

"Guess I won't teach you the even catchier song I was saving for tonight."

The trolls immediately changed the tune.

A growing pinhole of white hot light marked the cavern end. There wasn't enough room in the transports for everybody, so each crew member decided whether they wanted to play hot or cold.

An audible groan came from the group as they stepped out of the fun and into the sun. The melting sand plain was dotted with massive bleached white bones. Any creature with a skeleton that size would have no trouble crossing the desert. Why, then, were there bones? He tried not to dwell on it.

Poppy and Smidge's flyer bugs perched on the moving beetles. A flyer's feet weren't made for walking in extreme climates.

After an hour in the blaze no one felt like talking anymore. Muffled chatter from within the delivery beetles was their only company besides the hollow hush and sifting sand. Motes of yellow dust floated in the air. Branch's mind floated with them.

When he'd finally caught up with Poppy after realizing she was in fact crazy enough to go to Bergentown alone, she'd been burned, frost bitten, scratched up, smeared with soot, flushed red, and slightly puffy from what he later discovered was eating something poisonous. It was difficult to tally the injuries because she bounced around so much.

Eventually he'd forced her to stop at a stream to clean up and treat the burns.

"Put this on," he said.

"Why? What is it?"

"Could you just do what I say for once?"

"What, this, or the part about getting eaten by bloodthirsty bergens?"

"Both!" He shoved the jar of salve into Poppy's hands.

The memories were kind of innocent and cute. If Poppy ran off like that now he'd lose his mind.

Nobody's burns would be bad today. The trolls outside followed his example of using their hair to make parasols.

Sounds of stirring sand were getting closer. A sandstorm? They could try to push through or circle the bugs for protection and wait it out.

Branch tensed.

Copper's yelling dragged out from afar until he burst over top of a dune. He tore down the bank toward the caravan. "Do listen to Branch! Do listen to Branch!"

A whirlpool of teeth erupted behind Cooper.

Smidge was at Branch's side as if she'd been there all along.

He directed: "Blend in. Get moving when it's safe."

Branch propelled himself onto the royal flyer bug on top of the caravan and took to the sky. Smidge leapt onto the lead delivery beetle, barking the command to blend in and shrouding the convoy tip with sand-tinted hair.

He flew straight for the creature headed their way. Its head was pointed like a spade, its long, snakelike body mostly buried in the ground except for two front legs ending in blunt talons. Bone colored scales covered its hide. Size-wise it rivaled a crocodile. Multiple rows of curved teeth lined its gaping maw. Predator.

"Cooper!" Branch shouted, slinging his hair around the panicked troll. He throttled the flyer's antennae and strained to fling Cooper as far to the side as possible. His friend hit the sand and rolled into an instinctive tan ball.

The beast looked around for the crunchy, nutrient-packed beetles.

Branch unhooked his slingshot and circled around back to peg the predator where its skull joined its spine. The spade head swept around and snapped at the space he'd just been. It swiveled down low to the ground and crawled further out of the sand, using its head to feel for the camouflaged beetle train.

"Come on, you stupid beast," Branch growled under his breath, lining up another shot. The pebble bounced unnoticed off of thick scales.

His next shot hit the target. The beast crammed its stinging eye shut, thrashing once before leaping at Branch.

He took off. All he needed to do was lure the infuriated predator away. It swam through the sand like a shark through water, keeping up with him easily. He worried about what other abilities it might have. He tried to stay far enough away it wanted to chase, but not so far it lost interest.

Suddenly it lunged forward. Teeth closed over the tip of his hair and tore him from Poppy's bug. Wind whipped over his skin. No time.

With all his might he willed his hair to grow, clogging the predator's mouth in a frizzed hairball and snaking down its throat.

It choked and hacked, slamming him to the ground. He blacked out for a second on impact. Pinpricks shocked over his scalp as strands got caught in hooked teeth and broke off. A crack, like a tendon snapping over bone, pierced his brain. Slimy blue mats of hair spit up and sizzled in baked sand. The tin whine in his head wouldn't stop screeching. He felt hot. On his hands and knees. The monster thrashing. Something trying to push him up.

He clung to the flyer bug pushing at him. "Good girl. Thank you, thank you," he hoarsely croaked, stroking her smooth shell with a shaking hand. She flitted him a short distance from the battle.

Branch could still see the sand creature. It watched him. He watched it. He needed it to stay here, away from the others. He sat for a while in the shade of a bone until his breathing stabilized. The water in his pack was still secure. He took a sip and poured some for Lifesaver, his gaze never leaving the predator in the backdrop.

Damage: no breaks or tears. His neck was starting to hurt. His hair was sprained, lying in a knotted black trail far off into the desert. That was a priority. Cursory inspection of supplies told him he'd lost the slingshot. The bedroll was still strapped to his rucksack. The bag's contents were inside but likely squished.

The hair sprain was crippling. It was always a nasty surprise how physically painful it was the moment it snapped, too. Any other time hair didn't "feel," other than pushes or pulls against his head, but right now there was a distinct lack of any sensation at all. A nothingness he couldn't control. He felt naked. No, worse. He felt defenseless.

With an eye always on the predator, he got out a pair of scissors and the tiger-striped comb from Poppy. The scissors were to cut everything and run. If it came to that he'd lose it all, be disabled for weeks as it regrew.

By hand he manually reeled in his hair. Starting from the frazzled tail end he untangled what he could. The wooden comb shushed and crackled through snags. Laboring in the heat, he pulled shreds of broken hair from the comb, staying within the bone shadow minute hand as time slithered on.

Finally he was able to call back the stream of bruised hair into a short, jagged brush. It drooped without any spring or strength left. Even sun protection was out of the question.

Branch saddled up on Lifesaver and felt relief when the predator chose not to follow.

Lifesaver made short work of the desert and hit the next zone's wall of cold and snow like a party cannon. Branch used his hands to bundle up in his stressed hair and added the unfolded bedroll on top to minimize wind burn. The skies were thankfully snowflakeless and sunny.

On the border Branch spotted the caravan. They'd just passed into windy plains, where the bus route curved to go around a lake. He rejoined the group.

Spirits were low. They made it to the floating eyefields after sundown and still he pushed them onward. He wanted to reach the fresh water river after the eyes to restock supplies. Nobody looked at his broken hair. Nobody complained about the forced march, either.

In a way it didn't matter if it was dark out, because on the ground the starry-eyed pupils above blotted out the sky. Trolls clicked on their hair lights. He did not have the ability to do so right now, but he did have a new glow gnat lantern. The gnats inside were irritated by the day's rough handling and he had to keep feeding them to get a reliable shine.

Everyone, bugs included, collapsed when he called the stop. No one mentioned the song he'd promised. Camp filled with the silence of sleep. He did a hair count to be sure no one was missing.

He rested in his bedroll. He knew he needed sleep but he couldn't relax. Every snap and crack made him jerk around and stare into the dark, searching for reflective eyes. What happened if he came home with fewer trolls? What happened if he didn't come home at all? Had Poppy considered that possibility?

Probably not. Hopefully not. If he thought he might never see her again he'd sure be doing a lot more than kissing her hand.

Maybe he should file a complaint.

> Dearest Queen Poppy,  
> Let it be known that henceforth should you require my death-defying services, the price shall be your finest steed and a proper kiss.  
> Your Ever Loyal, Faithful Knight  
> Branch

It was so stupid and he was so tired he considered writing it down and mailing it as a prank, maybe with a handful of glitter that'd explode all over the room when she opened it.

Something snapped out in the dark and he flipped over to survey the area. No eyes, no more sound.

"Hey."

Branch nearly kicked Smidge on instinct. She'd come up on his blind side.

"Knew you'd still be awake," she said. She circled around to put herself between him and the wilderness, a green glow stick bracelet lighting up one arm. She settled down with her back to him, legs crossed. "Get some sleep. I'll keep watch."

"Aren't you tired?" He didn't trust anyone to stay awake right now.

"I took a nap," she said.

"When?"

"In one of the beetles after you came back."

Branch rolled over, sensing Smidge's solid presence behind him. At last he fell asleep.

In the morning they set off for the final day, getting close to Bergentown. His mom's words played in his head.

> I've been there. I've been beyond the walls. It's beautiful and terrifying.

The convoy traveled around rolling green hills crested in merry sunset flowers, some of them death traps for critters who wandered to the summit. Bright blue berries adorned bushes, tasty looking and poisonous. Fuzzy lumped peaks of red, purple, and yellow bordered deep undertones of spider lairs. Pink mushrooms covered fallen logs amidst lush green foliage. He'd been here with Poppy. They'd camped not far from this place, two naive trolls who thought they knew each other.

> Make a happy life for yourself there.

_I will. I did. Sorry it took so long._

Beautiful and terrifying.

x x x

"Poppy, no, I can't do this," Biggie protested.

"Don't worry Biggie, you'll be fine. Smidge will be back in a few days," Poppy said.

"You gave Branch the fastest flyer in the village. What if he comes back early? How do you know he won't fly back tomorrow?"

"I don't." All she had was faith Branch wouldn't abandon the others unless it was an emergency.

"Oooooo. I'm going to be sick."

"Biggie. If Branch does show up early, Smidge can handle it."

"He's going to be so cross with you."

It wouldn't be the first time.


	17. The Red Hair Chair

Time in Trollberg felt like forever.

Smidge flew home after everything was unpacked. Branch buried himself in construction. He surrendered his services to the project foreman, doing all he could without the use of his hair.

A lot of the work was unfamiliar. The principles were the same, but tricks of the trade for pods and structures dependent on something other than ground support were different. In addition, much of the construction required artisanal skill he simply didn't have. Until recently he'd only cared about functionality. Appeal didn't matter when there was no one to look.

Apart from that, he was proud to find some of his methods were superior to convention. He taught where he could. In return he picked up techniques that would be extremely useful at home.

In the evenings mail bees brought tiny letters and gifts to the builders. Branch was thrilled to get mail from his friends. He wrote back, usually including some unusual local plant or odd scrap from Bergentown. Mail departed from Trollberg in the morning. Even the quickest response wouldn't arrive until the next day.

Milton came up with a mail scavenger hunt game they played back and forth. "Something metal," was the current prompt. Branch stuck a fragment of chipped plate from one of Gristle's broken electronics in an envelope, along with a note. "Something small but complicated."

Even though they were together in Trollberg, Cooper thought it would be funny to send Branch a plain, double-wide piece of blue cardstock. Branch added the paper to his collection.

What he wanted more than anything was a letter from Poppy. She was silent. If it wasn't for the positive notes from his friends he would've been worried something at home was wrong.

> Poppy,
> 
> Things are going well here. I had some trouble with a predator in the hot sands. Here's a diagram of what it looks like. It's not interested in individual trolls unless provoked, but it will come after larger prey like delivery beetles.
> 
> It's not easy being away from home right now. I miss your smile.
> 
> Hugs, Branch

His hair regained its colorful spring after a few days and he eased into exercising it. He spent free time out in the woods, collecting seeds and planting them in Trollberg, feeding Lifesaver, taking her for a spin. Often he got caught up in Cooper's shenanigans around town. They explored a lot.

Branch socialized with the crew and learned a few names, sometimes answering questions from curious bergens. Bergen technology was fascinating and he interrogated Gristle whenever the king had time.

But the nights. The nights were by far the worst.

He relived every moment with Poppy.

Memories that were once fun and sweet and hopeful were now agonizing knowing he had to wait to make new ones. He tried to distract himself by thinking of romantic things he could tempt her with, but it always came back to the feel of her kiss on his hands, those cherry soft lips trailing up his arm, along his neck, and finally to his own.

He yearned for that kiss so, so bad it was physically painful. His soul twisted and twisted until all the threads were stripped bare.

Branch clutched at his heart, rolled over, and groaned, lying awake in the secluded nook he'd made for himself at the base of the tree. He dragged his lovesick self out of bed and paced, using the movement to drive away unwelcome fantasies. Then he sat down to sketch building concepts.

He was dozing off with the pencil in his hand when buzzing caught his attention. At this late hour a delivery bee found its way to his camp. The critter clasped an envelope between its feet.

Branch opened it. The contents didn't make sense.

He tipped the envelope over the table and sifted through the cutout letters. MRS EIO. He rearranged them. IM ROSE… IM SORE... IS MORE… I MORSE…

"Well little guy, either your name is Rose or you're sore. Looks like you're staying here tonight."

The nonsensical delivery put him on edge. There was no name on the envelope. What was the code trying to say? Was someone in trouble? He obsessed over it until sleep descended.

The next day's evening mail included clouds. Paper clouds.

"Okay very funny Cloud Guy," he said loud enough to look crazy in front of everyone when no pesky clouds materialized. Cloud Guy was still on his list of suspects, but there was another likely prankster on the loose.

"Cooper, do you recognize these?" He presented the letters and clouds.

"Yeah. That's a cloud. That's an E, and an S, and—"

"No. I meant, didn't you mail me this stuff?"

"I might have," Cooper said, looping his head around his neck in a knot. "But I definitely don't remember doing it."

Somebody was messing with him. He was sure of it.

This time when mail came he was already there. Sure enough, one of the bees brought him an unmarked packet. What was inside made him rush down to his shelter and spread all of the pieces on his workbench, along with the big sheet of blue paper.

Poppy didn't write because she was mailing him a scrapbook page, one piece at a time.

A stupid smile spread over his face.

It was a scrapbook puzzle. He had to put the pieces together. The letters didn't make sense because there would be more. Better not glue anything down until the end.

Every day he got something new: tiny pods, trees, leaves, parts and clothes for his character, a tree path to stand on.

By week two he puzzled the troll tree setting together. Without any instructions it was impossible to figure out how to pose the paper version of himself. He received a mini Poppy to add to the page. How close should they be? Holding hands, hugging? ...Kissing? His imagination was all too eager to supply a fairy tale where their usual banter brought them closer and closer, each quip softer than the last, until it was little more than a breath, until—

Both characters came with closed eye shapes and smiles (or frowns, depending on how he turned it). Their arms were slightly curved. He layered their colors together into an affectionate embrace. It felt like he was reconstructing a shredded invitation, except back then Poppy never made their characters touch.

Once she'd realized how important personal space was to gray Branch, she respected it. Never giving a hug without permission, maintaining a comfortable distance during conversation, standing back to deliver party invitations. His past fear of intimacy wasn't slowing her down now, was it? Because he was ready. He was ready for more, if she'd have him. He'd never seen her kiss anyone else's hands, so...

He was fiddling around with the cutouts when the sound of an argument from the street reached his ears. He peered outside.

In the early evening shadows, two bergens angrily poised outside an entryway shouted at each other in a language he didn't know. Branch's stomach started to turn as the argument intensified, screeching its way past anything he'd seen a troll do. Furious, rigid stances, nasty fast movements of arms, loud yelling.

Branch backed up against the tree trunk and covered his ears, wincing with his eyes closed. This was too much like then, too much like then. He dreaded the shouts, the sirens, the brutally loud bangs and screams.

At some point the fighting stopped. It hadn't happened, then. Not this time anyway.

He sank down to the floor, shaken.

Trollberg's base construction was almost finished. Another crew would continue where they left off, using local materials to put the artsy swagger on the main building and furnish the pods. There was still so much to do, but at least trolls had a place to stay and a frame to build off of.

If they should stay here at all.

He'd been saved from that slug by a bergen. Bridget and Gristle were nice people. There were Chad & Todd, Bernice, Nangus, Groth, but the others… He really hoped Poppy knew what she was doing. He'd talk to her about it, just in case.

But first he had something else he needed to say.

Branch prepared supplies for the trip home. The moving beetles should have extra food and water inside.

The next scrapbook pieces were Poppy's pod, which was big enough to go smack dab in the center of the page. Then he got two letters: PI.

Paper Poppy and Branch held each other close, all smiles, in front of the queen's pod. Around them village homes dotted the background, tucked away in leafy boughs of the troll tree. Cloudy blue skies filtered through the gaps. Beneath the two hugging trolls were the words, "I promise."

He sucked in a breath. He didn't often get nervous, but now was one of those times.

Promise what?

At mail hour he waited a long time up in the tree, long after the last bee flew and all the other trolls left. He waited for another anonymous envelope, but none ever came. All incoming mail dwindled away. It was time to go home.

The instant they entered Troll Village the party began. Family, friends, and children raced to hug those who'd been gone nearly a month.

Branch didn't realize how tense he'd been the whole time until that moment. He felt stiff, like a spring coiled for three weeks. Up on Lifesaver he had a vantage point that made it easier to spot trolls in the sea of color. Relief turned to foreboding.

"Tug, where's Poppy?"

"I'm afraid I am unable to answer that question. I have not seen her."

Smidge would know. He located the pink bow. "Smidge, have you seen Poppy?"

"Well… no." She fidgeted with her hands.

"Where is she?"

"She's not here."

"I can see that. Is she at another party?" He couldn't keep the edge out of his voice. This was THE party right now. Everybody was here at Trollberg homecoming.

"I think you should check her pod."

He felt sick.

With everyone at the celebration, the pods were eerily quiet. The queen's home was spotless inside, everything organized and put away. An unmarked envelope sat on the center table. He dumped it out and looked at the cutout letters. They matched the ones he had. There was his answer.

I'll come home.

I promise I'll come home.

Branch was outside now. Biggie tried to run, but it was no use.

"Branch, funny to see you here," Biggie laughed nervously. "Your hair…"

"Is turning red? Never mind that. Have a seat." Branch created a hair chair. It was red.

"Ooooo, I knew this would happen," Biggie said, slumping into the chair when Branch kicked his heels with it. "She made us promise not to tell you. The whole village. Everyone."

"Where is Poppy right now?"

"I don't know Branch!"

That was fine. He could track her down, same as before. He ticked off his fingers. "When did she leave, and which direction did she go?"

Biggie looked around. "From here, it would've been that way."

North, toward Bird Cliff and Bummer Territory.

Biggie hadn't answered his first question. Branch folded his arms and waited. His friend mumbled something, refusing to make eye contact.

"Try again," Branch said.

"Three weeks ago," came the tiny voice.

All the color drained from Branch's hair until it was stark white.

She could be anywhere by now. Only the most obvious footprints lasted that long; with all the other wildlife it would be near impossible to track her except for big signs like campfires. Worse, Poppy had zero survival skills. She'd lasted less than twenty-four hours on her own. Yes, she could fight, but doing that when injured, sick, or taken by surprise was different.

He remembered cutting her unconscious, burned and bruised body from the spider webs.

Three weeks.

His hands were clenched with fistfuls of ashen hair. Poppy didn't stand a chance, and he had no way to find her.


	18. Stepping Off On My Own

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trolls World Tour tip: there's a shot near the end where the camera zooms way out from Poppy and Branch. Watch them closely.

Poppy was curious if Bummer Territory was as bad as the scrapbooks said. Unless she wanted a vulture to snap up her flyer bug she wouldn't be able to keep flying there. Branch would gloat if he knew she was being wary of birds.

She let her borrowed steed go when the woods turned to brown and all fun evaporated. The bug flapped away, heading back home.

Poppy looked over the dull, reddish wasteland, its scraggly trees and lumpy brown hills. She doubted it was the worst place ever. After all, there was a tall gray flower over there. The land hadn't heard a good song in ages. She would shake it up a bit.

She struck a chord and walked out into the barren landscape. Positive pop chimed from the strings and her walk became a step, then a spring. She danced and twirled in the dust until the last note.

Nothing.

Not so much as a single critter or plant.

"Well, I'll just have to sing it again!"

_Inside my own heart there is a truth that I don't know  
_ _Something deep within myself that I'm afraid to show  
_ _I know it's there, but I am scared to face it all alone  
_ _But it's time to take it  
_ _Only I can make it  
_ _To the music in my soul_

_So I'm stepping off on my own  
_ _Gonna leave the only road I've ever known  
_ _And I've got to see what's inside_  
_And I won't know, won't know, won't know  
_ _Until I go!_

"Until I go! Until I go!" she yelled, running away from a furious fanged beast and her cute cubs. "I'm going! I'm going!"

Every day was amazing and lonely. The world was full of life, unique mysteries, and fun. She had no one to share it with. Prairies of gemstones, mushrooms that hummed in the evening, dirt in hues of blue, butterflies made of gossamer light so fine they dissolved in sparkles when touched. Fruits in intricate snowflake shapes hung low on weeping trees. They looked delicious and juicy. She didn't touch them.

"Let's see. I've still got plenty of food. Could use more water and wow, where did that come from?" Poppy stared at a long blue scratch all the way down her arm. Now that she was looking, she had other nicks and bruises on her legs.

"Do I walk into stuff when I'm singing and not notice?"

Probably.

An accessory to go with her hiking tank top and shorts would keep the cuts at bay. She plucked troll-sized soft white petals for a cloak and got into the decorating spirit by weaving a crown of pretty twigs. Small, round, edible berries added a touch of whimsy to the crown.

She strummed up a friendly beetle that led her to a large, clear lake. Evening sky reflected on its surface.

Poppy set up camp underneath a tree by the water, happy to shuck off the burden on her back. The rucksack from the marketplace was heavier than what she was used to. Ties secured her sleeping bag to the top. In case of bad weather she wanted more than a leaf, especially if she stumbled into a microclimate that involved snow. After all the trips back and forth to Bergentown through the part that was always freezing, she suspected it was fortunate Troll Village only got one day of snow each year.

She refilled her water supply from the lake. Branch usually boiled it.

_It could have bacteria in it we're not used to._

Pff. The water was clear. It'd be clean.

_Poppy._

Fine! She started a fire. That, at least, was something all trolls knew how to do without burning the forest down. S'mores were delicious after all.

At night the lake's glassy surface shone with starlight. Rainbow glimmers shimmered in the water, dancing and fading between reflected stars. The water was completely still, the sky so solid it could be touched.

Poppy knelt by the lake in awe. She reached out to touch a star. The water rippled but its surface was hard; no amount of pushing broke through. In amazement she stood and stepped into, no, onto the sky. The soles of her feet were wet and that was it.

She ran, laughing, on a canvas of light and dark, wavy ripples pouring from each step. She cartwheeled and twirled. Tiny fireflies joined the dance until she was both on and in the stars, white lights trailing her path like a comet.

Tonight there was no headband, no crown or ceremonial robe, only disheveled hair and freckled face. She smiled into the water mirror. It was her.

Sometimes she got so absorbed in her role she forgot herself – or other trolls forgot she was Poppy. So much as one sneeze from the queen and the whole village caught a case of the worries. Turning gray in front of everybody hadn't helped. This trip would change that, though, give her the confidence to stand alone when she needed to, and reassure the trolls that life wouldn't lose color when she went off duty for a while.

Poppy looked up into the depths of the sky as deep as the reflection below. Some day she'd pass leadership to someone new. When that day came, who did she want to be?

She wanted to meet all kinds of people, make long and lasting friendships where she could, good memories where she couldn't. Have fun, be fun, queen or not. She wanted to be able to look back and see the positive changes she'd made. Put her feet up and savor what they'd all built together.

It'd be nice if she had someone to enjoy it with, someone closer than a friend. A dance partner. A dance partner and a couple of shining stars they created. Those special bonds, she'd seen them in the lives of her people. She wished for a connection like that too.

Poppy pranced off the glass sky and started her bedtime camping ritual. With a collapsible trowel she dug a hole, placed her troll gem inside, covered it up, and watered it. A heart flower might sprout if she tried growing it in places besides the village.

In the morning Poppy hummed while she reclaimed her gem and packed camp, fresh and focused once more on her personal queen quest. She had lots of time left. She'd only been gone a few days and there were more incredible places out there. She wanted to keep going. Who knew what she might find, or who she might meet?

"Ok Laylee, which way?" she asked her instrument. Then her skin pricked at the realization of what she'd just done.

"Gah! It's happening already! I'm turning into Branch!"

She doubled up on the songs after that.

The further she got from Bummer Territory, the more receptive wildlife became to her music. It was as if the joyless red wasteland was a buffer between Troll Village and something else.

She was far beyond the tour route on Tug's map now. She checked her compass heading again. Unless she kept her eyes glued to the needle it was impossible to travel in a straight line, and without a path or familiar landmarks it was surprisingly easy to get turned around. It had already happened a couple of times. No big deal. Good thing Branch wasn't here to freak out about it.

A crack followed by wet ripping snapped her attention to the river she was following. She didn't need to be close to know what was happening.

The dark, mole-like critter had not noticed her. It wasn't much bigger than a flyer bug. Curved blades protruding from its forepaws dug deeper into the dead insect's muscles and tore another piece off. It chewed on the fresh meal.

Trolls generally had a good relationship with creatures of the forest, but there were those they learned to be wary and respectful of. Growlbeasts were one such example. Poppy got the sense this critter was another. Its small size meant there would be no navigating its insides to escape.

From a safe distance she recorded on a scrap of paper that there was a large boulder shaped like a teacup at this part of the river. Then, she changed direction, moving away from the water and back into the disorienting maze of birch trees.

That was where she spotted the ruin.

Crumbled remains of two pillars flanked a stone door set into a small boulder. Poppy's mind raced at the discovery. This place was in far worse shape than either of the two ruins she'd seen: the Fountain of Glitter downstream from Troll Village, and Black Rock at the village's boundary. Black Rock looked like a skull. It'd been carved by troll hands probably before the first Troll Tree existed.

"Dad would love this. Wonder which myth he'd point out is true after seeing it."

Few trolls built with stone anymore, and it was clear why. Even after all this time the building was _still_ here, colorless, hard, and impossible to move. Poppy struggled with the heavy door. It was cracked open but the slab wouldn't budge.

"These… guys… must've… been… strong," she huffed. "It'd take two trolls to move this."

But Poppy was one troll, by herself, and brute force was not enough. Risking an injury out here would be foolish.

She stood back to take in the aged building consumed by plantlife and weathered by time. The world was so much bigger than they knew, and the past was fragmented snippets after so many Trollstices. Was this ruin a house? A library? A community room? A silly smile tickled her cheeks. A bunker? It could be a storage area for food and party supplies.

Maybe she could come up with a safe way to open the door alone.

Prying it open might work, but she had nothing with her to handle the job. She was going to need… a… branch...

Yep, a branch. It had to be one that didn't bend over backwards when she pushed on it, but wasn't so brittle that it broke. A strong, unyielding branch.

Okay.

She snapped half a dozen sticks in the door gap before she finally found a sturdy branch worth wrapping her hair around and dragging through the birch trees, the darn thing getting caught on the trunks and banging and complaining the whole way to the ruin. After a lot of sweat and some cursing she had it wedged into the gap. She walked all the way to the other end of the wooden lever and pushed.

The stone slab over the doorway ground against the floor as it moved. Poppy got excited and increased the pressure. With a sudden sickening jolt she went flying forward; her branch cracked in half so loud it echoed like thunder through the woods. She rubbed her ears. "Sugar!"

It was enough. She rested her rucksack against the building and squeezed between the stones, rough rubble scraping her skin. Inside, the air was chilly and damp with a woody fungus smell. A bloom of light from her hair lit up the room.

There was no furniture. Slimy green moss splotched over the floor, the ceiling, and the rectangular hollows carved into all four walls. It was like standing inside a box of bookshelves.

Poppy poked some of the lumpier moss shapes inside the shelves. She couldn't help but think about the vault in Branch's bunker the he kept protected with a heavy door. It felt like this, with a layer of plants and creepy ancient ambiance.

Strange moss geography by the doorway called her attention. The wall wasn't smooth. She peeled off chunks of greenery, getting gooey slime all over her hands. Bit by bit the carved art appeared, notes and clefs and bars. It was music.

For a second her anticipation exploded and she tore the wall away, but the music wasn't playable. It was for decoration only. Normally that would be awesome – decor was fun – but what a disappointment.

Poppy stood in the dead still, silent vault. Sheet music was certainly worth protecting like this. But whatever once filled the shelves, the trolls had taken it with them when they moved.

She scraped out of the doorway, collected her things, and explored nearby for other ruins.

Poppy heard the scuffle before she saw the critter. She whirled around, and there, a full hair-span away, was one of the scythe clawed moles. It remained totally still and stared directly at her.

Smidge wasn't here to back her up. On the bright side, there wasn't a terrorized flock of trolls running everywhere. Her rucksack clumped to the ground and she took a step forward into a stable fighting stance. "Got a feeling you don't wanna share my food. Mind letting me go?"

The clawed critter continued to watch her. Alright then. No messing around. Every hair on Poppy's head began to fan out.

She stomped abruptly and flared her hair wide and wild, huge and puffy. The critter scampered away. Poppy's pricked skin wouldn't settle. She hurriedly donned her pack and moved on. The sooner she was out of the hunter's territory the better, so she went straight for a hill where the environment changed. She made a snap decision on which way to go from there.

Past the jungle lying ahead she'd seen golden clouds haloing bizarre, eggish mountains. She felt drawn to that place, but lost sight of it under the jungle's waxy leaves, vines, and towering trunks. Thick foliage blotted out the sky under a blanket of warm heat.

Poppy plucked a joyful tune to match the blinding neon colors of the local critters. Slick froglets banded in blue and red hopped from trunk to trunk. Birds with long, fancy plumage called to one another in foreign song. A flash of yellow and pink feathers reminded of her of Branch's birds. Maybe they'd found a home here and settled down.

Everything went quiet. All colors vanished.

Poppy stopped playing and her ukulele unflowered, whispering away. She took cover in a fern patch.

For a while, nothing happened. What was everyone waiting for?

Then she saw it: a pattern of green and brown spots shifting against the background. Covered head to toe with camouflage fur, the feline giant was easily the size of an adult bergen. It made no sound, thick padded footfalls fluffing into the forest floor.

"Woah," Poppy breathed.

The jungle ghostwalker vanished into the undergrowth and still the world held its breath.

Poppy didn't move until birdsong returned and iridescent beetles scuttled from crevices. She instinctively reached into her hair and pulled her hand back, empty, in frustration. Her scrapbook materials ran out yesterday. There were too many sights to document.

Food was difficult to find. None of the vegetation here was recognizable. Had she known better, she would have eaten more wild plants closer to home where things matched her scrapbook. At this point she depended on her packed meals. She was proud she'd prepared for food shortage by bringing extras and then some.

After a night in the jungle she made it to a strange field of puffball plants. Every so often they belched a noxious cloud of black powder. The dry air rasped her lungs. She covered her face with her hair and tried to rush through the area.

An hour in, she started to feel sick to her stomach. Should she turn back? It would be another hour out if she did. It was hard to see in the gray, pollen-saturated air.

She pushed forward. Her only indication of time was her hug watch's ping, a constant reminder she was out here by herself.

Creek said the worst thing about struggling to survive in the wild wasn't the animals trying to eat you, the poisonous things you ate, or the life-threatening mistakes you made.

The worst part was the solitude.

Here, coughing through her hair in a dim, otherworldly pastel land she knew the truth of that statement. No one was coming to her rescue. No one needed her to save them. She had no one to rely on and no one depended on her. She was truly alone.

Poppy trudged between mushroom stems, ashen powder raining down like snow. Pollen blankets muted all sounds and sights. She felt deaf. Her eyes stung. She kept going.

At last she was free of the mushrooms. She fell to her knees in a fit of coughing. It was getting late. She heaved herself up and put more distance between herself and the bad place, searching for any type of shelter for the night.

She decided on setting up in a small hollow inset in one of the rounded cones sticking from the ground. The large egg-like things were everywhere, as if they were the trees of this alien place made of white and gold. Some egg cones were small lumps, some tall, some stacked on top of each other, one bubbled on top of another until they breached the clouds. The clouds were a thick buttery blanket she couldn't see through.

Regal butterflies inhabited the area, but they shied away from her. She tried singing. Her throat was hoarse. Best save it for tomorrow.

Poppy curled in her sleeping bag. She couldn't stop shivering. She drifted in and out of sleep fitfully. By morning she had a fever.

This was bad. What were those plants back there? The village botanist Meadow hadn't mentioned anything like them. Poppy couldn't take that way back home.

Water. She needed to stay hydrated, especially now. How had her water supply gotten so low?

She huddled into a ball, involuntarily choking out an occasional cough that sent shivers through her. Her body fluctuated between burning up and freezing cold. Her energy was gone, but she tried to play a little music. Doing so scared off the critters. She stopped.

Without music or scrapbooking as an outlet, she started to realize how dire the situation was. She slept, but the fever wasn't breaking. It was hard to remember the first aid training she'd taken through the mental fog. Anything about poisons? Spider poison, yes. Plants…

Was her heart rate irregular? Without one she couldn't tell. Her vision was fine, and she didn't feel like she was uncontrollably falling asleep. Or was she? She swallowed a lump of fear thinking about the symptoms. Okay, next. Breathing. Yep. Breathing sucked right now. Cough. Fever wasn't normal, felt… different than any she'd had before.

Different.

Nothing in this place was familiar. The foreignness closed in on her, panic gnawing away at her circle of positivity. What if she didn't get better? What if she took medicine and it interacted with potential toxins in her system? What if a predator found her out here? What if she ran out of water?

She wanted to go home.

She'd never been so scared and alone.

Branch.

In her semi-conscious state the thought of him set off a riot of emotions.

She'd promised to come home. Promised. She was going to get home. It would take longer than planned was all.


	19. Calm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's weird to not use Tumblr when so many of you do! I'm tempted but it'd be embarrassing to have mine be 100% trolls and detail notes from over-studying the movies. Like how there's a visual heart theme running through TWT, and a visual hand theme running through both movies AND the series, and how Branch makes this stupid cute giggle during the Lonesome Flats chase, and how Biggie is riding one of the narwhals.
> 
> Okay! I'll stop. Been writing some TWT inspired fics but can't post them yet.

"Branch, dude, you need to relax. You're freaking everyone out," Suki said. "And I mean, like, everyone." She spread her hands to include the whole village, not just the group of friends in the queen's pod. "Poppy said she'd come back."

The scrapbook page with Poppy's promise lay open on her dresser. Her felted flower headband was there too. She hadn't taken it with her.

Suki was wrong. He was calm. He'd never been more calm in his life.

Guy said, "Poppy can take care of herself. Have a little faith."

"Name one time she's left the region by herself," Branch said.

Guy opened his mouth but nothing came out. Branch watched while everyone exchanged glances and whispered, "The time when… oh," and, "Didn't she, nevermind… how about?"

The only one who didn't join in was Smidge. With a hardened gaze she looked up at the uneven flat trim that marked the top of Branch's hair. It was still growing back.

"Branch is right," Smidge said, putting an end to the hushed side discussion.

All eyes turned to him.

"Any troll who knows anything about where Poppy went or why she left, I need to hear it. Odd behavior, unusual requests, supplies she ordered, any hint at all. If I'm not out there looking for her, this is where I'll be. Leave messages on the front table."

"I'll make an announcement," Smidge said.

"I'll make a pie!" Cooper chipped in, encouraging the usual confused stares. "What? She's probably hungry by now, right?"

Branch really, really did not want to think about that, but he had to if he was to have any chance of finding her. He needed to know the most likely ways she'd get stuck, lost, or injured.

"Meeting over," he said.

It took an untrolly amount of discipline to not rush off in a desperate search. Right now information was his best friend.

He'd thrown together a base of operations. Lifesaver was hitched to a stem outside. Inside the queen's pod he'd cleared a small table and put it by the doorway. A stack of blank paper and pencils were ready and waiting on top. Poppy's craft table was in front of her bed so he could review maps and notes and still have his eyes on the doorway. His rucksack sat on the floor, restocked with water and food from the kitchen.

There weren't any perishable goods in Poppy's fridge, which told him she'd been planning on leaving ahead of time. The cleanliness of her pod, the letters Smidge mailed on her behalf, the clues he'd gathered from their friends: it was well planned. Not a last minute rush.

The terrifying part was he knew whatever she was doing was reckless because of the lengths she'd gone to avoid him. She'd told the village she was going on a "secret vacation" and "don't tell Branch." This explained why Peppy was so surprised to see him earlier, thinking the "secret vacation" was a surprise for Branch and the two of them were off together like they usually were.

"Branch?"

He looked up from his notes to see Tug at the front door. Her smile was as bright as ever.

"After you asked about Queen Poppy I remembered something. A while ago she requested maps and brochures for Tug Duluth Adventures' Boredom Badlands," Tug said, brushing her hand through the air in an arc. "That tour was so unpopular I discontinued it ages ago, but if you look here, you'll see I made copies of everything the queen asked for."

She put a thin sheaf of trifold brochures on the strategy table. Branch leafed through the pamphlets. Bird Cliff. Several routes to Bummer Territory and nearby areas. The evidence confirmed what Biggie said.

"Has any troll mapped beyond here?" he asked.

"No. Bummer Territory is a hopeless wasteland of death and despair," Tug said cheerfully.

Uncharted territory, then. This conversation was over. Branch took a closer look at the brochures. Orange continued to hover along his peripheral vision. Tug was still there. "Yes?" he said.

"How are _you_ doing? Can I get you anything?"

He looked up, surprised at the personal concern.

Tug's generous smile warmed her purple eyes and perfectly curled lashes. Not a single strand in her sweep of orange hair was out of place. A fashionable, short scarf tied neatly to the side complimented her outfit.

She looked nice.

Reaching out to him like this when he was so obviously in distress, was, well, romantic. Tension in the room wound tighter. They were the only two trolls here. He tipped the tour map down to the table and looked Tug in the eyes.

"I'm flattered Tug, really, but my heart is set on someone else."

Tug's expression didn't change.

Then she burst out laughing. Not the practiced chuckle she usually had, no, this was a full scale giggle assault. She slammed her hand on the table, trying to regain control. He jumped up in surprise.

"Everyone knows that Branch!" she sputtered before another burst of laughter took over. "You thought I – oh! Hahahaha!"

Now he felt stupid enough to laugh at himself. He let it happen, let the little amusement wash away some of his anxiety. It felt good. "Oh, frosting, Tug, I'm sorry. I'm a little stressed out. Not my finest moment."

His friend wiped at her eyes. "Well?"

"In that case, do you have a coffee maker I could borrow? Poppy doesn't have one."

"Of course, Branch. Of course."

Armed with the maps and a late afternoon sun that cast shadows on tracks to make them easier to see, Branch untied Lifesaver. He had to choose how far away to start searching. According to Biggie, Poppy left by flyer bug, but that same bug was in the stables now, so she must've sent it back. If she'd been at Bird Cliff, there was a good chance he'd hear about it soon from someone in the village.

He flew past the birds and started looking for track traps, places with exposed clay-rich dirt or mud that could hold a print for long periods of time. By flying low to inspect a couple of these, he found something.

"There, troll tracks."

He landed and snapped a stick off a shrub, dragging the point alongside his own feet to mark them. The mud was wet, but firm. Chenille said it rained a couple of times while he was gone so he knew not to bother looking for subtle signs. They'd long been washed away.

Branch didn't need to examine the mud for long. The troll who skipped through here had larger, wider feet. A male.

"Gotta keep looking."

It was important not to get his hopes up. He had to keep a level head, not get frustrated or upset by failure. The trail he was trying to find was very cold. It could take a while.

Lifesaver sped through the trees. They checked every area on the strip all the way to the thinning vegetation where Bummer Territory began to creep in.

"What do you think? Double back and look at other spots, or fly the border here?"

Lifesaver shook her head and whistled a couple of bug whinnies.

"Oh now you talk to me. You just want to save Poppy."

She snorted.

Their search around the edge of the waste turned up nothing. He expected as much. They'd look again tomorrow near the places on the old adventure brochure. He'd have to travel on foot for some of it, spare the chance of a vulture snapping up Lifesaver.

He dropped her off at the stables so she could eat, rest, and socialize with the other bugs. Smidge and Biggie intercepted him on his way back to the treetop. "Don't be mad, but," Biggie said, "I think the announcement worked a little too well."

Poppy's pod was flooded with folded paper notes. A tall heap on the front table that waterfalled over the floor suggested there had been an attempt to stay organized, at least in the beginning.

"I said they better tell us everything they know, or else," Smidge said. She smacked a fist into her hand.

"And then I said it was like a game of Survival Hide and Seek, and someone had the secret clue," Biggie said.

"Then we sang a song."

"And did a dance."

"Meep," Mr. Dinkles concluded.

Branch picked up a note and opened it.

> Queen Poppy regularly comes to the bakery and orders desserts for parties and breads for picnics. A few weeks ago she said she was going on vacation, and we haven't seen her since.   
> –Bella Brightly

He unfolded a longer letter with detailed notes. The last entry read:

> Sunday, Summer 36, Year of Free Smiles 21, aprox. 10:00 am hug time
> 
> During a morning pep talk the queen announced a secret vacation. She appeared to be the normal amount of happy. I found this odd, since announcing a vacation should result in extra happiness. However, she did collect a special sleeping bag from the market for said vacation.

"This is perfect," Branch said.

"Oh no," Biggie said. "I knew it."

"I'm not being sarcastic. This is what I wanted."

"Can we help?" asked Smidge.

At this, Branch hesitated. A lot of the writing here was trolls wanting to be helpful. That meant you had to be able to tell what was out of the ordinary versus what was mundane. Could he trust Biggie and Smidge to tell the difference? Could he afford not to trust them? If he tried to do everything himself he'd burn out. But if they missed an important detail, it could cost everything.

He sucked in a big breath and let it out. "Biggie, does Poppy take her coffee with or without sugar?"

"She doesn't drink coffee. Unless you have it."

"Smidge, how often does Poppy say you were right?"

Smidge waved a hand. "That, like, never happens. And if she's hiding something from you she draws her words out reaaaallly loooong like thiiiiis. Then she distracts you by changing the subject."

"Somehow it always works, too," Biggie added.

The three of them sighed.

Maybe the tame kiss on his hands had been just that. A distraction.

Branch quizzed them a bit more and it was clear they knew what was unusual Poppy behavior. The three trolls started sorting the letters. Anything they were even unsure about went onto the bed. All of the mundane reports got stuffed into a box.

> Is Queen Poppy coming out of hiding soon? I miss her.
> 
> If it weren't for Queen Poppy, I would have never found the courage to say hello to the man who is now my husband.
> 
> Poppy has been a ray of sunshine ever since she was a little tyke. The Trollsday before she left she sent me a beautiful handmade card.

Branch heard Biggie sniffing away tears. He didn't blame the guy.

He unfolded a young trolling's drawing of a pink troll with a big smile on her face surrounded by an equally happy troll family. Everyone wanted to help find Poppy. It was impossible to read the notes and not see how unbelievably active and present she was everywhere. She gave love and got love in return.

Smidge tapped his shoulder with a white card.

> Branch, I thought you were good at hide and seek. What's taking so long? Is Queen Poppy better at hiding than you are seeking?  
> –Keith  
>   
> P.S. My mom says if you have a crush on someone you should be brave and ask.

When they finished there were only a few truly suspicious notes. Branch skimmed the ones Biggie and Smidge chose. He tossed a few, but Biggie stopped him when he went to discard the one about Poppy sharing a secret.

"But she does that sometimes," Branch argued. "She tells random trolls secrets."

"The secret could be about her trip," Biggie said.

"And what if, instead, it's what it always is: some embarrassing Poppy secret?" Branch said. "Like how she sometimes wears the same dress for days without washing it, even if it gets dirty? Or that she'll sneak your least favorite food into something to see if she can get you to eat it and enjoy it? Or how one time she had an emergency and—"

Biggie had his hands over his ears. "LALALALA I'm not listening!"

Smidge was doing the same. "Oh my gaaaah! I don't need to know any more of these than I already do!"

Branch waved the note around. "Do either of you even know who this troll is? Goldie Speckles?"

No one did.

"I'll look into it," Smidge said. "But I am _not_ talking to her. You do it, Branch."

"Me? Why me?"

"Says the guy who cooks things in his hair."

"No I don't."

"Show us what's in there right now," Biggie said.

"No!"

"Do it," Smidge said.

"Agh! You two are worse than Poppy. Both of you, out. I need sleep. Out! Out!" He pushed the noisemakers out the door.

" _You're going to know all her secrets eventually anyway~_ " Biggie sang.

"Good. Night." He slammed his hair over the doorway.

Exhaustion smashed into him like a hammer. Since he'd left Trollberg he hadn't stopped. He cleared the letters off the bed, grabbed one edge of the blanket, threw himself onto the covers, rolled up like sushi, and blacked out.

~ ~ ~

She hadn't had a hug in so, so long.

She sniffled and another chill burnt over her skin. She curled into a tight ball and wrapped her hair around the sleeping bag. An itch bit her throat and she coughed until her eyes watered and she was heaving for breath.

A yellow form with mint green hair was there, outside the small nook.

"Smidge!" Poppy rasped.

It was a curious caterpillar. The critter scooted away.

No one was coming. She'd fallen into her own trap. The chance she'd make it long enough to be found was slim. Without water and running a fever, it wouldn't be long now.

Maybe she wasn't going home after all.

She hugged herself. It turned out she couldn't make it on her own. Alone she was powerless.

A blanket of calm descended on her as she gave up hope. Either someone would find her, or they wouldn't.


	20. Evil Word

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to post an extra update to this story this week, but I'm ALMOST ready to drop the first chapter of a World Tour fic, and there's some new scenes I want to add to what happens next in Unspoken, so I need editing time. TLDR: as usual Monday is the next update, I'msosorry!

Branch let himself wake naturally. He checked his watch. 9:30 AM, and he had company.

"Oh, good. You're awake," Milton said. The critternarian was holding a half-finished plate of fruits and veggies. "Smidge asked me to bring your flyer bug up here. She's all ready to go." Milton turned to the kitchen. "Branch is up. Shall I go fetch this morning's visitor?"

"Yes please!" came Smidge's gruff voice.

Branch was then subjected to a huge stack of fried eggs, hash browns, toast, fruit, a tall glass of milk, and a second glass of water.

"Don't even think of hiding any of this in your hair," Smidge said. She narrowed her eyes. "I can smell it."

Over breakfast he reread last night's important letters. Poppy had not gone "camping" unprepared. She'd taken first aid training. Meadow Spriggs taught her about edible and poisonous plants. A couple of vendors mentioned supplies Poppy might have on her now – firecracker flowers, medicines, fruit and nut bars, and an insulated sleeping bag.

Branch had gone through her camping gear and she'd taken most of it, except not the tent. She wasn't planning on staying in any one place.

Milton returned with another troll.

"Good morning Branch."

Branch narrowed his eyes. "Creek."

"What, not even so much as a hello? And in front of guests no less."

"Hello, Creek," Branch said through his teeth.

"Was that so bad? Now, about Poppy, I have some information I'd be happy to share."

"Great."

"If," Creek said.

Branch resisted the urge to pull the infuriating troll's hair. Creek always stood uncomfortably close. It would be easy.

"You recite this poem over megaphone for all to hear." Creek handed him a paper. The latest attempt to publicly shame Branch featured an apology, in rhyme, for things Branch was not sorry for. He folded the note and put it in his hair.

"No," he said.

"I made it back to the village," Creek said. "I'm sure Poppy will too."

No. He was not wasting time being humiliated.

"I'm sure she will," Branch said. "How long were you in the woods? Two, three months? We'll just wait for her to come back. And you know who's going to take charge while we wait?" Branch jabbed a thumb at himself. "Me."

Creek's smug expression fell off a cliff and died in a fire.

"That's right. No more rock gardens, no more yoga obstructing the roadways, rules and regulations everywhere, oh, but that will come later. First I have a much more important decree to make. Something that will make everyone safer, put structure back into the village."

The room was silent.

"A curfew."

"NO!" The trolls shouted at the evil word.

Smidge was on her knees. "Please Branch, Biggie and I can handle a few more months."

Milton backed up against the wall, whimpering like he'd been kicked.

Branch paid neither of them any heed. His laser focus burned into a horrified Creek. "It's up to you, Creek-A-Boo," he said with a vicious smile.

"You wouldn't…"

Branch wasn't smiling anymore. "Try me."

Creek swallowed, hard. Then he started talking about Poppy spending time with him to learn oddly specific details on survival. What Creek had to say was upsetting, not because Poppy and Creek got along, but because she'd gone to pretty boy for advice about the one thing, he, Branch, knew better than anyone.

In fact, she'd trusted everyone in the village except for him.

That hurt. A lot.

Poppy liked to push him, but in the end she always gave him space when he needed it. Did she think he wouldn't do the same for her?

Maybe she didn't want to see him at all. Actually, it was pretty clear she didn't.

Branch looked at the marked maps scattered before him, the stack of note cards, the furniture he'd moved. The blankets were still rumpled from where he'd slept last night. There was a flyer bug tied outside. He was talking to a troll he didn't like inside the pod of a queen who didn't want to be found. This was crazy. He was being crazy. What was he doing?

"Thank you Creek. I've heard enough," Branch said.

The interruption surprised Creek. "Really? Will that help you find Poppy?"

Cupcakes, the guy actually sounded hopeful.

"I guess." Branch folded the maps back up into a tidy stack.

"You guess or you know?" Creek pressed.

"I guess," he repeated, pocketing the maps, "Poppy wants to be alone."

For a little while it was quiet. Branch smoothed out the bed covers.

"What are you saying?" Milton asked.

Branch cleared off the front table to put it back where it belonged. "I'm saying we're done here. We'll wait for Poppy to come home."

"Milton, hold my hand," Smidge growled. "Because if you don't, I'm going to slap some sense into him."

Milton took both of Smidge's hands.

Now it was Creek's turn to be indignant. "Branch, mate, you can't be serious. You're not really going to leave her out there are you?"

"You said it yourself: if you made it back, so can she," he replied.

"If I really believed that, why would I come up here at all? To tease you? Don't flatter yourself."

Branch set the side table back down and pressed his hands on it, leaning forward. "Then please, enlighten me, oh wise and powerful zen master, why _are_ you here?"

"Because you're the only one who can find Poppy."

Branch abandoned the table and picked his pack up off the floor.

"Oh go ahead, run away!"

He headed for the door.

Creek's voice was low now. Displeased. "You're not the troll I thought you were."

Branch flared his hands out and glared at Creek. "Like what? A paranoid hermit? A rules-mongering fear lord? A fun-sucking vampiric growlbeast?" He turned his back and untied Lifesaver.

"A brave one."

His hands fumbled the knot for a second. Then he regained focus and finished the job, hoisting himself up on the flyer bug.

"Branch, where are you going?" Smidge demanded.

"To find the queen."

He sought for signs of Poppy, but his heart wasn't in it. Something didn't feel right. Like their bond wasn't as strong as he thought it was, if she snuck off without a word. Yes, she'd promised to come back, but he wouldn't feel so terrible if he knew where she was. He didn't need to be there. He just needed to know she was okay.

“What am I supposed to do, Gary?” Branch lamented quietly to the open air. “What am I supposed to do?”

The search turned up nothing. Branch came back to the queen's pod late. There was a feed and water station for Lifesaver now. He absentmindedly polished dust and dirt off her carapace.

The sense of urgency that gripped him before was gone, replaced by more of a nagging unease. He changed into the second set of clothes he had with him, hand-washed the rest, took a shower, ate something. There were a few more messages from trolls who'd secondhand heard the call for clues. None of them were especially noteworthy.

Branch took a lantern and walked dark tree pathways. Some pods still beamed with a warm glow. He passed them until there were no more houses, only bark and leaves. Further beyond that a bough stretched above the canopy and he could see the forest. Tonight the sliver of moon dimly lit the woods.

He wanted to talk to her, fix the tear in his heart. The lonely sound of his flute carried over the treetops, calling out for an answer.

_Hey there, hey there  
_ _Can you hear me out there?_

Cooper's harmonica echoed back. Then a harp: Guy.

But Branch was seeking a response he wouldn't get. He played the first line again, and again, and once more to the sound of silence.

The next morning he puttered around, laying out his gear and resetting it. He wondered if he should make a new slingshot, get one from the market, or go home to pick one up. He could continue these searches from the bunker. There wasn't any special reason to stay here.

Still, it wasn't an effective use of time to go there for one thing and leave again, and a sling from the market would be a toy, so he found himself at the strategy table whittling down a Y-shaped stick.

"Um, hi. Sorry to bother you."

He didn't recognize who it was. The yellow glitter troll had orange bangs that partially obscured her eyes. When he looked at her she shied away, crossing one arm over her chest, closing herself off. A shy glitter troll?

"Let me guess," he said. "Invitation for Poppy. Goes in the basket by the door." He flicked his knife at the overflowing bin.

"Oh, that's… no. I—" she stammered. "The skitterboard competition is today."

"So?" What did this woman want from him? Was he supposed to go to that? He didn't feel like it. Everyone was getting on his nerves.

The glitter troll balled her fists and stared at her feet. "Queen Poppy said if she wasn't back for the skitterboard competition to find Branch." She hazarded a glance up at him. "That's you, right?"

The troll bit her lip. "I think she's in trouble."


	21. Reignited

"Lifesaver, no! We can't go out there!"

Branch shifted the flyer bug's antennae, but it was no use. Lifesaver had decided to assert her independence and there was absolutely nothing he could do about it. He threw his arms around her as she bolted forward into Bummer Territory. Into the vultures.

Branch yelled, eyes screwed shut, as flashes of light and dark tunneled around him. Bird feathers blotted out the sun and whiplashed over his skin, leaving a sting. Or maybe that was a beak and he had another second to realize he was dead before his brain shut down.

A hard buck from his steed knocked his eyes open. Lifesaver zigzagged furiously, but she couldn't shake the bird behind them. With a roar Branch lanced his hair at the feathered demon, grabbed it by the beak, and snapped its head upwards.

"You're crazy!" He pounded on Lifesaver's hard shell, furious. "Crazy!"

The bug landed at such an extreme angle he was thrown from the saddle. He blazed a trail through the red dirt before scrambling to his feet. He wasn't finished. "What is wrong with you?! How are we going to get back now? Come here. Come here!"

He uselessly chased Lifesaver around a rock and a scraggly brown pricker tree. She stayed out of reach and flicked hair grabs away with wings. She was too smart to get lured up against the rock. She buzzed off a whole tree length away, landing in the open dust plain. Trying to catch her was futile.

Branch wasted a few more minutes exercising his drama bone by shouting into the void and kicking up dust. Then he huffed and got down to business. How to get out of this one?

He'd been dumped at an oasis of sorts. It had a shade-providing boulder and a single twisting trunk bristling with thorns. A cracked glossy patch at the boulder's base suggested water pooled here when there was any. An unmistakable foot pattern skimmed the dry mud.

He froze.

Hop-step, hop-step, jump turn, step step. It had to be Poppy. Had to be.

He stood still, terrified he'd botched the trail by throwing a fit. The only place that held tracks was the cracked earth beneath the rock.

He got down for a closer look. The indentations were normal, no favoring one leg over the other, no dried blood. He had no idea how old the tracks were, only that they weren't new. Judging by the direction, she came from the border and headed due north, past the thorn tree.

The visible trail end took her very close to the tree. One at a time he combed the twigs with his eyes. Each had the same brown-red gradient with hooked thorns, all but one. The stem was broken, the thorn at its tip crisped in a darker color. Dried blood.

Jumping around and singing without paying attention. He wasn't surprised. It was probably just a scratch, but he checked the ground for splatters anyway. There weren't any.

He spent a good while examining the site for any other evidence until his hug watch went off. The watch – he might be able to pinpoint her that way if close enough. He'd have to pay close attention every time it chimed. So much for muting it to stay hidden.

Branch cupped his hands and called Poppy's name in the direction she'd gone. Lifesaver ambled up, nuzzling around the rucksack on his back for water. He obliged.

"Looks like we might have to take some risks to find her in time. But please, can we not repeat that crazy stunt?"

Lifesaver chirruped.

"It's not funny."

They flew low over the badlands, Branch shading himself and Lifesaver with a hair cover as close a match to the ground color as he could get. The dead red had an unpleasant raspy dry feeling. They traveled like that from oasis to oasis until Branch lost track of Poppy's trail. He flew back to the last reference point and tried other nearby rock and tree outcrops. Nothing.

"Gotta think like Poppy."

Branch shifted his hair into a harp and brushed the strings. An awful out-of-tune clash made him cringe. He adjusted the string tension but it stayed dissonant. Guy made it look so easy.

"Glad I didn't try this at home."

He picked out the flute. It honked a jarring edge of mismatched notes.

"What the?!" His instrument looked fine. It wasn't damaged.

"Crazy desert song go!"

 _Hey! Now! I can't stand this place  
_ _Dirt and dust up in my face_

He slapped his hands over his mouth. A voice like that might kill someone.

"Not a word of this to anyone, you hear?"

Choosing not to sing was one thing. Choosing to sing and being bad at it was another. Poppy wouldn't spend two minutes in this discordant landscape.

Branch got the heck out of dodge in the most likely direction: the one holding the most color. He'd make camp in the wilderness. He was going to stay out here as long as possible. Every minute counted.

For days he searched, sticking to water sources, trying to navigate the labyrinth of Poppy's mind. She wanted to go to the other side of Bummer Territory but couldn't tolerate going through it, so she went around. By sheer dumb luck he came across a campfire along a stream. She needed water. She'd have to come back to water every now and then.

He called her name. He played music. He set off flares and hid from the unusual critters the light and sound attracted. He was way beyond his comfort zone. There were too many unknowns in this area, but he was desperate.

Branch chewed through his last high density ration. He was torn between staying in the field and restocking at home. If he went back there might be more news, and it'd save the time and risk of foraging in unfamiliar territory. Lifesaver was fast. They'd lose maybe two days if the pace was brutal. One there, one back.

"Poppy, if you can get back up again, I really need it to be now."

~ ~ ~

Poppy quit counting missed hug times.

She slept a lot so she didn't have to exist as much. Existing meant misery. Chills, fever, cough, congestion, and thirst. So thirsty. Her mouth was a tarry desert. Hunger. But she knew if she ate the thirst would get worse.

Before, she considered using a firecracker flower flare. But people had to be looking for you to be found. That wasn't going to happen. She'd made sure of it.

Too clever for your own good, Poppy.

Too proud, too clever. A mistake was a mistake. It was in the past now.

Another day. She wasn't thirsty anymore.

She appreciated the beauty of the glowing flower on her wrist, the way its spritely pink petals swirled out and lifted fuzzy center feelers to the world. Hug flowers bred by connection. If you pressed two face-to-face and waited for them to close, they'd form a pair that became fruit and seeds for new flowers. The flowers thrived on joy. Without it, they withered away.

When she stopped, her hug watch would, too.

The flower on her ukulele wasn't the same. She wondered if it would bloom for anyone else, or if its existence was tied to her as well.

The cloud layer was lower today, hints of gold shimmering along white puffs. Sometimes she could hear music. It was far away in the sky, and it was weird, as Cooper would say. There wasn't any singing, only sound. Weird, amazing sounds.

Maybe the music was thunder and there would be rain. It could happen.

It was boring to lie still. She sat up.

_click clack_

Whoops. She might want to empty her hair if she couldn't hold things in it anymore.

Poppy picked up Branch's photo.

He hadn't wanted his picture taken, first because he insisted he couldn't smile, and then because it became a game of scowling whenever she tried to get one. It was a challenge, but she eventually snapped a genuine photo by being sneaky.

She could unfold the collage and she knew what she'd see: the smiles of all her friends. Silly, sly, cute, happy, lively. But Branch was different. His was a smile of affection.

She'd waited for his cuddlepup love to end. It didn't. The more he grew, the closer he seemed to be. Somewhere along the line he'd won her over, not with smooth talk or elaborate gifts, but just by virtue of being who he was. Strong and steadfast. Intense and passionate. A fighter, and a lover.

If he saw her like this he'd be devastated. She was being pathetic.

She _was_ being pathetic.

Poppy started to wake up. There was a chance he could find her. For that to happen she had to live.

Water. Being sick might kill her, but dehydration definitely would. She had to find, get, or create water somehow. And no, drinking sweat or anything along those lines wasn't an option. Dr. Moonbloom had been firm on that.

She needed to survive.

Beyond optimism, beyond despair, she found at the core of her being a power she didn't know. The flowery prettiness of her environment dropped away and she looked at the situation as pure reality. Not what had been or could be, but what was there right now. She remained still to conserve energy while she perused a mental list of what she had with her. She thought about the ground she was on, the hollow she was in, the critters here, the egg orb structures, the weather at the moment.

Inspiration struck like musical lightning. She felt stupid, or silly, wanted to laugh and cry at the same time. Instead she took a bowl from her gear with a shaking hand, threaded her hair into the clouds, and swished it around.

It came back damp.

She wrung the water out.

She wanted to learn to stand on her own? Now was the time. She drank and ate slowly, recovering the strength her body needed to fight off the illness. Then, when it was over, Poppy collected her gear and started walking. This time she didn't play any music. All of her skills razor focused on one goal only: to get home alive.

If Branch didn't find her, she would find him.


	22. UNSPOKEN

A few days passed after resupply at Troll Village. Branch found another black scorch from a campfire further up the river at a lake. From there, he continued following the river toward a rainbow due northwest. He set up camp and collected tinder and firewood.

Commotion exploded at the campsite.

He dropped the sticks and broke through the brush in time to see Lifesaver zooming around in a circle, her movement limited by the tether staked into the ground to keep her from wandering. A dark form slightly bigger than her leapt and slashed with scythe forepaws. A jagged gash opened up Lifesaver's side and she fell to the ground.

The attacker didn't see Branch coming.

He leapt on its back and clubbed it square between the eyes with a spiked flail pulled from his hair. The moleish predator dropped dead on the spot, its skull crushed.

Branch left the flail buried in bone and ran to assess Lifesaver. Clear fluid oozed from the gash, internal organs visible. Her exoskeleton was cut clear through.

"Don't move."

He tore two thick leaves from a plant and cut vines from another. He dug into his pack for tacky adhesive. It needed to be something that would stick.

Branch smeared the whole container around the wound and pressed a leaf over it. He ran his hand around the edges with pressure to seal it. On top of the bandage he put a second leaf and held it in place with his hair while he wrapped the vine around Lifesaver. Green coil wound round and round, covering the leaf. He tied it off at the top.

"Does it hurt?"

Hard shelled insects didn't feel pain the same way trolls did unless their vital organs were struck. Lifesaver wasn't writhing in pain, but she didn't say anything either. She was dispirited. Branch didn't know enough about critter care to handle this. They needed to go back as soon as possible.

Their second return to town was a somber one. He tried to come in discreetly to avoid hopeful trolls searching for a splash of pink. Those who did see him reacted as one might expect. His clothes were torn and tattered, the bug he rode, bandaged, and a permanent frown darkened his expression. Bitter regret at the loss of life due to his own carelessness sat heavy on his conscience. Rarely had he resorted to lethal blows.

He left Lifesaver in Milton's expert care.

Poppy's pod was starting to fade. The colors would perk back up once he stayed the night.

Two new outfits spread over the bed along with a note from the twins. The clothes were what he usually wore: vests and shorts. One set mimicked his leaf vest and camo shorts, but with superior tailoring. The other set was a green vest with a dash of embroidered leaves along the opening. A pair of dark green shorts overlapped it. Each leg had a single triangular dart cut out for character. The fabric was smooth and soft under his fingers. He'd hate to ruin these doing dirty work.

Folded up in the closet he found the leaf curtain he'd made for Poppy. He set it up over the doorway, took a shower, put on the new green shorts, and crawled under the covers. Poppy's flower blanket settled over him like a snuggle. Thinking of her, the kind of trouble she might be in where he was powerless to help, made him queasy. He didn't know what he was going to find, if he was going to find anything at all. His stomach rolled.

Thirteen days. That's how long he'd been looking. Altogether Poppy had been missing for over a month. No troll or bergen had seen her. Thirteen days was an awful omen for a search and rescue mission.

He'd already made up his mind about what he was going to do. For the remainder of the day he rested.

Branch went out for a morning walk.

"Branch, you're back early. Did something happen?" Biggie asked.

"Nothing I couldn't handle. Don't worry about it Biggie."

"But I am worried. You look rather, um, stressed out."

He shrugged.

Biggie clapped his large hands together. "I think you need a break. We're decorating cookies over by the fun dungeon at 2:00. You should come."

"Thanks Biggie. I'll think about it."

Branch stopped by the stables. He folded his arms over the top of the fence and watched the flyer bugs graze. They liked the sweetgrass here, which is why they tended to come back even though they had free roam. That, and the trolls enjoyed spoiling them with sweets.

He held a bright red honeyflower over the fence and waited to see who would be the first to notice. It wasn't long before his popularity reached an all time high.

"Okay stop, stop, I don't have any more," he chuckled, brushing away inquiring nuzzles. The last treats were for Lifesaver.

He found her tied to a long lead in the pasture by Milton's mushroom house. Medical tape decorated with smiley faces covered her wound. She had a friend with her, another flyer bug that had a zigzag down its back. The two approached him. The zigzag bug stayed close to Lifesaver's injured side and regarded Branch with suspicion.

"Don't worry. I just came to say goodbye."

Branch patted Lifesaver's head under the other bug's watchful gaze. He split the honeyflowers up. The new bug was quick to take his share and give it to Lifesaver instead.

"Ohhh. I see what's going on here. Or haven't you told her yet?"

The bug flipped his wings grumpily.

"Right, right. Timing is everything. Well, don't wait too long."

Branch meandered around the village, taking in the sights and evading casual conversation by sticking to "hey" and "hi." Life was fun as usual. If there was a little awkwardness, if the melody and harmony weren't quite in sync, if a party didn't get cleaned up the way it usually did, no one called attention to it. No one wanted to turn gray.

He paused to watch a spontaneous musical number unfold at mushroom square. It spread, sucking nearby trolls into positive lyrics and infectious happiness. Critters and plants joined, reveling in the joy. In spite of everything, Branch wanted to be a part of it. He'd grown to love this bright, silly, completely-oblivious-to-danger community. It was something to protect and cherish.

Cooper's striped fur was easy to spot among the dancers. Branch swung down to the forest floor and joined his fuzzy friend. He surrendered his voice to the chorus, let the music guide his feet, and gave himself that moment in time to have fun. And if the world was a little brighter with him there, the song a little sweeter, no one was surprised.

Branch joined the others for cookie decorating.

Satin grinned at her sister. "See? I told you he'd wear the embroidered vest first."

"Well he doesn't look happy about it. Maybe because _you_ decided to use a satin stitch instead of a back stitch."

"Guys please," Branch interrupted. "The clothes are great. I really needed them. If you want a smile to prove it, then here." He pointed to the corners of his mouth and forced one. The twins winced.

"Ugh, no. We'll take your word for it," Chenille said.

Branch went to see what decorating options were available. He overheard Satin's whispered, "He's really worried about Poppy."

He was content to squeeze frosted outlines around various edible shapes while the others conversed. He didn't say much, simply enjoying the company.

"Are you leaving again tonight?" Smidge asked. She kept track of where he was and how long he'd be gone.

"Not until the day after tomorrow."

"How long are you going to be gone this time?"

"I'm not coming back."

Silence. Branch maintained even pressure on the icing bag, tracing a star cookie. He waited for the inevitable outburst.

"Whaaaaaaaaa?" Guy's surprised whine droned on in the background until Suki put a hand under his chin and clamped his mouth shut.

"Branch, you can't. You'll go mad out there all alone," Biggie said.

"What are you going to eat?"  
"Where are you going to sleep?"  
"Who are you going to hug?"

"I'm going with you," Smidge said.

Branch cut in before that offer could spread. "No. No one is coming with me."

They resisted, but he had a planned rebuttal for every argument. Nobody was happy about it.

He allowed himself one day to prepare.

Next morning he spread everything in his rucksack out on the floor of Poppy's pod. The lack of singing outside made it easier to focus. He double-checked the list again, noting which items he needed from the market. The rest he could collect from his bunker.

It wasn't just singing. There was no laughing or talking either. He'd told them he didn't want a going away party or a big send off or any fuss at all. He wanted to leave in peace. But no, he wasn't going to get that, because the quiet now meant a surprise party.

An unnatural hush descended on Troll Village.

Something was wrong.

Branch stepped outside but the danger wasn't here. In fact, no troll was around at all. He hurried along the tree path until he spotted the source of the trouble: a growing crowd of trolls down below. They gathered, curious, around a clump of unusual leaves.

Trolls always did this when it was something dangerous. Offer it friendship first, run away when it tried to eat you second.

The leaves moved. Yep.

The thing looked left, then it looked right, but it didn't seem to see what it was searching for, so with colorful hands it pulled down the leaf hood. A spray of wild pink hair emerged.

Branch hit the ground running. The ocean of color parted before him, like they knew he was coming.

It was her.

Poppy.

Her head crowned in a weave of branches and berries, her leaf cloak lined with soft white flower petals. Happy, alive, unharmed.

Poppy!

She saw him and her smile burst into glitter specked fireworks. He was still running. She stepped forward, and at any moment they'd collide. Cerulean blue hair flowed forth and he shut the world out.

He shut the world out so they didn't see him take the queen in his arms and pull her closer than he ever had. He buried his face in the crook of her neck, eyes squeezed shut, fingers threading through her hair while he desperately held on.

She was real. She was holding him.

Poppy wrapped him up tightly. Her hands pressed into his back, fingers digging into the fabric of his vest. She fiercely tucked her head into the groove of his shoulder and he felt the sweep of her bangs and her soft breath on his skin.

"I missed you," she whispered. Her words were puffs of warmth where they landed. Branch tightened his grip.

"I looked everywhere," he said, voice raw with emotion.

It was just the two of them there in the blue fountain of his heart.

For a long time they stayed like that. It could've lasted a lifetime. He could die here, in this moment, with the way she was holding him so close, in peace. Let this be his happy ending. Let the book close here. He hoped his heart might stop but he didn't want to leave her.

Just a little longer. He stroked her hair and nuzzled his face against her skin, oblivious to the dirt and grit, feeling only the blissful brush of fuzzy flocking against his own. Oh, frosting, she was alive. She was alive.

A little longer.

Their friends and family were waiting.

With a heavy sigh he shifted into a more relaxed hug. Poppy didn't follow suit. She clung to him like a vice and it dawned on him that over the past month he'd had more hugs than she did. The queen wasn't likely to let go any time soon.

That was fine.

"Ready?" Branch asked quietly.

"Mmm."

Strands of blue retreated so the rainbow around them could shine through. He held Poppy while the village's arms and hearts encircled the two of them, two tiny trolls at the center of a big group hug. Flower bracelets bloomed and nobody moved. Nobody needed to.

Surrounded by love, Branch settled in to what was bound to be an extremely long village-wide hug. He hoped he could handle it. He'd put himself in the eye of the storm and the only thing keeping him grounded was the amazing feeling of the person clasped in his arms.

He waited for the discomfort of being surrounded by the crush of too many bodies.

It never came.

With Poppy there, he could do anything. He could withstand any hug, survive any party. He'd do anything for her. Anything with her. He was invincible.

The pure elation of the moment carried him away. She felt so, so good. She always did. She always had.

He could smell the smokey campfire aroma in her hair mingling with the cloak's crisp leafy earthiness. If he wasn't so relieved, he'd find the wild scent difficult to resist. Normally she smelled a little sweet, like vanilla or strawberry or whatever soap she was using, or craft glue and paper, or subtle smells that made him wonder what she'd been up to before she decided to hug him.

But this, this made him think of being together by the fire, orange glow and shadows flickering over skin beneath a canopy of stars.

Branch coaxed Poppy to loosen her grip. He didn't want her fully against him in case something happened he couldn't control.

~ ~ ~

Poppy was basking in the snuggliness of the best hug she'd ever had when Branch started to squirm uncomfortably. He'd hit his affection limit.

She relaxed her arms so he could escape, but all he did was loosen up without leaving her embrace. Then he settled down. His warmth swam through her battered spirit with a healing glow. She was really glad he hadn't left, because she wasn't done yet. She needed this.

Branch exhaled and rested his head on her shoulder, melting into her vehement hug. How was she supposed to let him go when he held her like it was the end of the world?

Desperation for anything ordinary clawed her insides. She had to set him free, she knew that, but maybe for today it would be okay to pretend she'd never left. They could fuss over each other and banter about something trivial and go their separate ways, and she could pretend he'd be back for more of the same the next day, and the next, no matter what truth she told.

Time passed. There would be no singing and dancing if they hugged forever. Poppy stepped back, sliding her grasp along Branch's arms to take his hands in hers. She wanted to see him.

The thistle puff tuft of hair wasn't as poofy as before. He'd cut the ends flat like an angled paint brush. Branch never styled his hair without a reason. Ever. This was the first time she'd seen the embroidered green vest and shorts. New haircut, new clothes, and a smile that was turning into a serious flat line.

Clearly they had a lot to talk about.

Branch looked her over again and his brow furrowed in confusion. "Where's your pack?"

"Oh, that," she laughed nervously. "I got so excited I dropped it back in the woods at the trail head." That was an hour away.

"I'll go get it." He slipped one hand free but hesitated to take the other.

"Can it wait?" she asked. Every remaining moment with him was precious.

"If it's got food in it the critters will tear it apart. Besides, I think everyone wants to see you."

He was right about that. Already music, cheering, and dancing was breaking out all around them. They were standing in the middle of a party. She needed to see her dad, her friends, everyone.

Poppy said, "Alright. I'll call the royal flyer bug."

"No don't—" Branch grabbed her whistling hand. "—do that. She's… resting. I'll get another one."

"Resting? Did she get eaten?"

"Psh. What, Lifesaver? No."

"Branch, did you name my flyer bug?"

He looked away and scratched the back of his head. "Whaaat?"

"You totally did. You are so weird!"

"I'm weird? How do you people even know which bug you're talking about?"

"You know, red one, blue one, Poppy's favorite, Branch's favorite."

"Right, but what if—"

"Branch!"

"Okay fine! But trust me: I'm not the weird one here. It's you guys."

Poppy grinned. "Huh. Well I guess that makes you normal. That's what I love about you, Branch. How normal you are." Poppy waved her hand through the air with finesse. "You really… fit in with the crowd."

Their mock argument had to be loud enough to hear each other over the celebration. As such they'd drawn a bunch of spectators, but that was part of the fun. Trolls never got tired of ooo'ing at a solid burn or a competition spurred on by one of their play-fights.

Branch spread a hand over his chest. "I'll have you know I'm fantastic at being normal."

"If you're so good at it, why don't you sing a song, right now, for no reason?"

"I would if I had any instruments on me. Which I don't." He pushed a hand through his hair and it came out the other side, empty. Where were all his belongings?

"You can borrow one of mine." Poppy offered the flowering ukulele. It was still damp to the touch.

Branch looked at her, then at the instrument, then back up. A wicked grin pushed at the corners of his mouth. "You want a song? Oh I'll give you a song." He snatched the ukulele and backed away. The focused attention he gave her as the first words came made her skin prick. Lyrics built with rising tension.

_Alone with you, no one's around  
_ _A perfect moment, hot, spellbound  
_ _You close your mouth, you turn your head  
_ _All the magic left unsaid  
_ _What is this feeling? Is this pretend? Is it only something I'm imagining?  
_ _This feeling, this feeling, this feeling_

The dizzy repetition brimmed with longing to the point it became angry. That raw energy took over the entire song. Branch put his fingers to the strings in a way the instrument was never intended for, releasing weeks of pent up emotion. Embattled red glow sparked from the flower and vines curling outward. His voice burst over the crowd, loud, with a growling edge.

_I got something I'm ready to say to you  
_ _Something that could ruin everything it's true  
_ _I'm gonna say that word  
_ _I wanna make it heard!  
_ _This unspoken, unspoken, unspoken—_

Without break the chorus tore into a passionate bridge at full volume. Branch spun and braced the uke on his hip as if it was his electric guitar, eyes scrunched shut.

— _Late at night  
__Hold you tight  
__Everything else in the world is right  
__It's just me  
__And it's just you  
__But I have no idea if we're one or two  
__(One or Two?!)_

_I got something I'm ready to say to you  
_ _Something that could ruin everything it's true  
_ _I'm gonna say that word_  
_I wanna make it heard!  
_ _This unspoken Unspoken UNSPOKEN_

The last three words crescendoed into roared frustration. Branch rammed his fingers down on the strings so they couldn't resonate, so there wasn't even an echo into the void of silence.

The abrupt ending left her screaming inside for satisfaction, waiting for the settling final chord that never came, a last word never said. The built up energy in the song sat at the top with nowhere to go. It was extremely uncomfortable.

Smug, Branch thrust the ukulele out by the neck, twirled his hair around it, and delivered it directly into Poppy's pink mane. He marched off, abandoning the trolls on top of a musical roller coaster.

Everyone stood in shock at the furious music so unlike anything they'd heard before. It took a few tries for the party to hiccup and lurch back to life. Poppy got caught up in one hug, and then the next, until the tension of Branch's song twisted into a conversation for soon, but not now. She was swarmed with affection as she reconnected with everyone.

The hugs, she couldn't get enough of them. She snuggled her way through every troll in the village. She told her dad she loved him for the third time and then started on a second round of hugs. She could do this all night.

An interlude to change would be nice. She took a quick break, scurrying up the troll tree. A hot shower had been a dream for too long. The most mundane activities were suddenly so exciting. Food. Real food. Her own bed. Everything was amazing. Life was amazing.

Seeing her pod was the best thing in the whole world. Its periwinkle blue accents looked different from what she remembered. She'd definitely been away too long. Branch's leaf curtain covered her doorway.

She stepped into total organized disarray. Traps, weapons, camping gear, tools, clothes, and miscellaneous items carpeted the floor in a grid. Furniture in unexpected places supported piles of envelopes and letters. A coffee maker flower pot sat by the doorway, its petals folded up neatly.

They, er, she had practically no food in the kitchen. The fridge was empty, the pantry cleaned out. It didn't matter. Even the handful of crackers tasted like crispy fresh baked goodness. After a shower she could make a hot bowl of seasoned noodle soup, a luxury after so many meals of flavorless boiled water stocked with whatever she could find.

Poppy stripped off the leaf cloak and wondered what to do with it. Even though it was a rushed work of sheer necessity, she'd noticed the way Branch had been looking at her before he turned all serious. At the very least he'd be interested in the jungle leaves because they made an excellent rain shell. She hung the cloak in her closet.

She ate the rest of the berries off her twig garland and put it with the other accessories. It was one of the few things that survived the journey home, herself included. Her popsicle stick photo collage was ruined, the dyes in the wood bleeding into each other, stickers torn, pictures bubbled with water damage. It went onto the dresser. She'd added the hood to her leaf cloak too late.

The scrapbook of her journey was safe, assuming her pack wasn't torn to pieces. It should be here by now. Maybe Branch was cleaning it up off the forest floor.

Poppy took off dirt-encrusted clothes and stepped into the shower's steamy bliss. For a while she let water beat away the physically and emotionally difficult month. Maybe she'd wake up and still be stranded out there, trekking through the bog at the back of Bummer Territory where everything was gray and repetitive, or the monotonous forest populated by plants constantly oozing beige paint.

She'd stormed the entire length of the most boring place known to troll kind without singing a single song. The journey home had been silent, alert, and aware.

"Poppy? It's me. Your bag is by the door. I'll clean this up and get out of your hair," Branch called from the main room.

Cooper's voice added, "I brought you a pie!"

"Aw, Cooper, thank you. And you're not a bother Branch. Please stay."

She knew he wouldn't feel better until he gave her the lecture brewing under that stern expression from before. He could lecture her all he wanted, if that kept him around.

Sounds from the living room accompanied her shower and the melody she hummed. The company was satisfying. She was sick of being alone.

Poppy put on her comfortable, cute blue and white teacup dress with the heart clasp. Now she was ready to party for real. She craved social interaction, needed to know everything that had happened to everyone. What new gadgets were coming out of the party factory? Had Glimmer confessed to Rosie yet? Did Meadow see any new troll gems bloom? Were Smidge and Biggie okay after all this time leading?

When she exited the bathroom her pod looked like she'd never left. Branch glanced at her apologetically from where he was standing by the photo wall. A stack of pictures and art was in his hands. "I can't remember how you had this," he said.

"Allow me." She pinned everything back up in a pleasing array of color and smiles. Branch went to get his scrapbook puzzle page off the dresser. When she finished and turned around, he had her ruined popsicle stick collage in his hands. He looked up at her.

His blue eyes were wide open and blank, ghosts gleaming under ice. She'd never seen such a haunted expression. Whatever awful alternate realities lived behind those lost frozen pools, she was grateful she couldn't see them.

"Poppy, why were you gone so long?"

"I got sick."

He squeezed his eyes shut.

"It's okay! I'm here now, right?" She wanted to chase away that pained look. It hurt her to see it.

"No, it's not okay. When you left like that I—"

"Poppy, Smidge wants to know if… oh." Suki looked back and forth between the conversation she'd raced in on.

Now that the leaf curtain was gone interruptions would be constant. It was going to take a while to catch up on queening. Poppy expected tons of drop-ins.

Branch took his scrapbook page, the last sign he'd even been in her pod, and slid it into his hair. "I'm going to return Tug's coffee pot and write to Bridget so she knows you're okay."

He made a quick exit, grabbing his rucksack on the way out. Suki waited until he was out of earshot. "Woof. I know it's not really my place to say this, but you might want to apologize to Branch. He was this close to leaving the village for good to try and find you. We couldn't stop him."

And apparently he'd gotten the bergens involved too. Poppy really was out of the loop. She'd messed up, big time.

"Anyway, about the flower glitter cannons," Suki said.

After Suki left, Poppy went to the kitchen to cook those noodles before more guests showed up. Cooper's berry pie was on the table, and beside it, groceries. Inside the leaf parcels she found prepared salads and sandwiches, fruit, nuts, breads, and soup mixes. Eggs and milk were in the fridge.

Branch.

If he was still here she would've kissed him.

Food never tasted so good.

On the way out she marveled at her pod. The blue was different, she was sure of it now. It was subtle, but the pasty periwinkle was headed in the direction of aqua. The blanket and sheet folded into the laundry pile: how many nights had he spent here? Not more than a few because he'd been in Bergentown.

A color change in such a short time was remarkable. It made her a little nervous, actually. As if she was staring down an intensity greater than her own.

Poppy spent the evening figuring out what the status of the village was. She noticed some areas of their community could use some TLC: a couple of stray streamers, balloons, and leftover confetti peppered favorite gathering spots. Glitter trolls Dewy and Shimmer had gotten into an argument and were no longer speaking to each other. Without her guidance there was no progress on Trollberg beyond what she pre-planned. In general, everyone could use a pep talk.

She figured Branch had gone home. It wasn't until after sundown she spotted the special colors out of her peripheral vision. She excused herself from the party.

"I need to see you," they both said.

Poppy clapped her hands. "Great! We're both on the same page. Let's go."

She rappelled up the troll tree and raced along the path up, up, up, suddenly full of energy.

"Poppy, slow down," Branch grumbled behind her, pushing leaves out of his way. He was still in a bad mood. She eased up, but she wanted to get to the top of the tree.

The moon was out, casting mellow light over the land. Far below, lights from the ongoing celebration flickered. Pinpoints of fluffy hair milled about. No one else was up here. This was her secret spot, a place she could see everyone but also be separate.

She had a reason for bringing Branch here again.

He stood apart, moonlight highlighting his broad, soft nose, uniquely tilted ears, and wide cheeks. She couldn't deny she'd grown fond of his face, even when he felt the need to frown like he was doing now.

While she admired him for what might be the last time, the worry lines around his eyes deepened. He sighed.

"Poppy, you really scared everyone by leaving like that. Maybe they won't admit it to you directly, but I will. When our friends found out you were late I had to fight with them to keep it quiet. The whole village would've panicked. And then I had to stop them from going out there to find you."

That surprised her. Faced with danger, trolls usually ran. What had changed? What was the source of that courage?

She realized she was looking at him.

Guilt stabbed her. She tried to explain it away. "I didn't know. No one went with me before, to Bergentown. Not even you, and I asked."

"Because I thought you'd give up and come back! Now I know better. Now it's not like before. You have people willing to risk their lives for you. Not the queen. You. I get it if you want to be alone. I get it. But I didn't know where you were or when you planned to be back."

"You always come after me though. If I'd told you…"

At this Branch's expression collapsed into one of a man tormented. "I do that because I care about you! I care about you so much I absolutely will leave you alone if you ask. That's all you had to do: ask. You didn't tell me anything."

Branch was visibly upset now. He put a hand over his face.

He was suffering because of her. She'd done this. A well of black opened at the pit of her stomach and his pain became hers. The ache consumed everything. She didn't know what to do to fix this, and into her silence Branch kept talking.

"You did everything you could to avoid me, and that hurts. A lot. It makes me feel like maybe you don't want me around."

No, no, no. She wanted to reach out, wanted to hold him, but didn't know if he was okay with that anymore. The rift between them kept getting wider.

Branch let out a breath, steeling himself for what he was about to say. He lifted his gaze and looked into her eyes, willfully exposing all the vulnerability he had inside. "I want to be with you," he said. "But if you don't want that, tell me now. Please," he finished quietly.

"Branch, I…" She matched his honesty with her own. "I want that too, but," she added before he got the wrong idea, "I got hurt, and I don't know if I can. Do you know how troll hearts work?"

He nodded, but didn't come any closer.

Poppy went to the edge of the tree and sat, letting her legs slip into the evening sky. She watched the trolls below, some of them in pairs. "I gave a piece of my heart away too soon. I didn't stop to think about it. I know, doesn't sound like me at all." She laughed, but it sounded hollow. "Normally you'd get your piece back, move on. That didn't happen for me. My heart broke, Branch. All of it. That night I brought you up here, that's all that was left."

She didn't need to explain what that meant. She shouldn't be able to feel romantic love at all. Without a heart she had nothing to give.

She felt Branch sit next to her, not touching, but there. "Why didn't you tell me sooner?" he asked softly.

"I was sure I could fix it and it wouldn't be a problem. I thought I might find an answer out there," she waved a hand at the horizon, "But I'm back where I started. I might not be able to fix this after all. I'm sorry. For everything."

Her ears sank. That was it, then. How could you commit to a troll who might never feel the same way you do?

"Poppy."

He waited until she looked up at him. He wasn't disappointed or worried or scared. A crooked little grin tweaked his mouth. Gentle fingers brushed away the wisp of pink over her vision and tucked it behind her ear.

"You showed me how to be happy," Branch said. "Let me show you how to be loved."

Her breath caught.

To make such an offer, even now…

He held out his hand.

Even though this could all fall apart, even though she could get hurt or unintentionally cause him pain again, the other possibility was a bright future together, a future of affection and harmony she was only now allowing herself to see. There was so much in that world.

He wanted to try to get there, together. Despite the danger. Despite the risk. He wouldn't abandon her to save himself. For the first time since her heart shattered, Poppy thought maybe she could someday trust someone so deeply again.

She placed her hand in his, and Branch did something he'd never done before. His fingers intertwined with hers.

The urge to be close to him slammed into her. She scooted over and snuggled side-to-side, resting her head on his shoulder, hands still clasped between them. Branch settled in and the weight of his head nestled above hers. He accepted her without question.

All of the hurt and pain melted away. A cozy glow filled her up. This feeling, it was pure and kind.

"I'm so happy right now," she whispered into the night.

"I think it's a little more than that. I feel it too," Branch murmured.

He was right.

Something within her fluttered to life.

If she kissed him now, what would happen? What they were doing felt perfect. She didn't want to move.

He was so warm and comfortable.

So snuggly.

…

A touch on her arms. Something holding her upright. "Poppy," Branch whispered. "Poppy. You're falling asleep."

The warmth at her side went away and she wanted to grumble until it came back, but a steady force pulled her up. Her body felt heavy. She managed to get her feet back on solid wood. A hand holding hers, leading onward. One foot in front of the other.

"If you're that tired you'll fall. Here."

Arms, silk, lifting her up.

"You've lost weight." The tone sharp and angry, a thorn in the garden of dreams. She wanted to fight it, but she was floating, being held in a bed of firm and soft. This was a place to rest. Here. She was home.

  
[Art by autodidactic_squirrel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/autodidactic_squirrel/pseuds/autodidactic_squirrel)

❤


	23. Honey Worded Trap

Night time slid into light filtering through open windows on familiar walls. Fresh laundry scent brought awareness that she was tucked in bed. She didn't remember falling asleep. Branch must've brought her here.

She wondered what happened to the troll so afraid of rejection he didn't ask for a hug day hug, even though he wanted one. That troll would have never voiced his feelings, let alone carry the queen to her pod in full view of everyone. What happened to the drab troll who ignored all his friends' invitations? The fully desaturated one who barely spoke at all? He would be shocked, disgusted, even, if he could see himself now.

Poppy's drowsiness split into a wide grin.

Thinking about Branch distracted her from the fact she didn't feel 100% this morning. Check that, her hug watch said it was past noon. She'd pushed herself too hard in the mad rush to get home and the excitement yesterday blocked out how exhausted she was.

A paper was propped up on the nightstand.

> Make a visit to Dr. Moonbloom today to check any injuries and get advice on returning to a normal diet. You need to rest, even if you don't feel like it. Pretty sure the doc will back me up on this one.
> 
> Stay away from sweets for a few days. I'll be at the bunker. I'll come check on you after dinner.
> 
> XOXO

Hugs and kisses this time, an upgrade from the Bergentown trip letter she found in her mail yesterday. The thing in her chest twirled wildly at the thought of exploring his face with her hands, looking into those bright blue eyes before she closed hers and—

She'd better get out of bed.

A pudding smudge, stray confetti, and some bits of bark decorated her dress. She brushed off what she could and used a wet cloth to wash off the rest. It wasn't as if she'd never touched Branch's face before. She had. Not as anything more than a friend. Except those hugs where their cheeks met. As trolls that happened from time to time, and it wasn't Branch's fault he had such supple lovable cheeks that felt good on hers. Wow, she was still thinking about this.

Her hand hovered above the felt flower tiara she'd left behind. Before she could latch on to the familiar feeling she passed over it, continuing down, until her palm hit the dresser's smooth handle. The drawer slid open. Dust flecks darkened the deep green crown and its trio of blue flowers with tiny suns sewn between. Four more flowers decorated the back band.

The cheery crown was designed for her, but at the time it felt so much heavier than the tiara. She plucked it out of the drawer and tapped it against the dresser to shake off dust, its felt fibers flexing on impact. Any weight difference between the two adornments wasn't noticeable. If anything the crown was sturdier, bolder, more confident.

Maybe tomorrow. She left the pod with her hair free.

Poppy visited the doctor, whose prescription matched Branch's (ugh), so she limited herself to visiting her dad, working on her adventure scrapbook, and inviting friends to a sleepover so she could rest without being alone. She didn't care if Smidge spent every night for the next week at her pod waking her up early if it meant an end to last month's soul-searching solitude.

To make that offer she'd have to find her helper troll first.

Everyone told Poppy to check the critternarian clinic. By the time she arrived she was starting to feel wiped out. Seeing the royal flyer bug picketed in Milton's pasture with a huge bandage on was a rude awakening.

"Oh no girl, what happened to you?" Poppy rubbed her bug's forehead. Branch mentioned sand dunes trouble in his letter. How bad had it been?

Milton's voice approached from behind. "No need to worry. She'll be fine. The bandage is only a precaution."

Smidge was holding Milton's hand, a look of utter bliss emanating from starstruck eyes. Milton had that same dreaminess about him. Poppy raised an eyebrow and popped a knowing smile. She knew that look, had seen it countless times around the village. Something was definitely going down between these two.

They could be shinier, she thought. Sparkles in the hair: that's how you knew.

Milton said, "Your bug will have quite the scar since the adults of this species don't molt. She'll be ready to fly again in about three days."

Her bug chirruped and flicked its wings, letting Poppy know all was well.

After a chat with Smidge all the sleepover invitations were settled. Poppy went home, pushed her bed to the side of the room, curled up on it, and took a nap.

When she woke she wasn't alone.

The sight of leafed clothing launched her insides into a full fledged parade. Branch had his back turned; he'd commandeered the scrapbooking table for something. Every so often he'd take the pencil tucked behind his ear and score a line or two against a straight edge. Shhhk, shhhk, confident strokes on paper.

Watching him work soothed the pounding drums within. He was quiet but present, focused on his task while sharing the same space with her. When they knew each other's stories by heart and said all there was to say, is this what evenings would be like? Or would he rather be in his bunker away from company?

That put a diminuendo on the music. She wasn't sure if she could commit to living apart... if he was even the committing type.

Poppy ruffled the bed covers so she didn't startle him. Branch realized she was awake and rolled up his drawing, stashing it and the tools in his hair. "How are you feeling?" he asked.

"A bit woozy. Unscheduled naps and I aren't the best of friends." She went to the kitchen to make one of those soup mixes. "The gang is coming over for a sleepover tonight. You in?"

"Should I get my stuff now, or?..."

"Borrow mine. Wait." She stuck her head out of the kitchen. "Are you actually agreeing to this?"

Branch crossed his arms. "I've done real sleepovers before. A queen who should be resting, a bunch of noisy friends, and the local grumpy hermit. What could possibly go wrong?"

"They could all get kidnapped by bergens," she offered.

He huffed, amused. "Don't remind me. I better make some tea if I'm going to survive this."

They were in the kitchen together, the silence stretched thin by everything left unsaid. Branch removed each piece of a tea set from his hair, along with a container of crispy leaves. Peppermint aroma tickled her senses.

She stared into her soup and stole furtive glances at her companion. It was during one of these their eyes locked. He must've been looking at her too. What to do?

Ping.

"Hug time?" Branch asked, prompting her to shoot up from her seat. He opened his arms and she walked right in, feeling him relax against her. He let out a breath he'd been holding. "Okay. Now I'm ready," he said.

The bass drum skipped a beat. "Ready for what?"

"Ready to see your adventure scrapbook."

Branch wanted to see a scrapbook. She put a hand on his forehead to check his temperature and swirled her hair around his, applying upward pressure. Nope. Not a mask.

He swatted her hair away. "Poppy come on. How often do trolls go around disguised as other trolls?"

"Do you really want me to answer that question?"

He shuddered. "Pretend it was rhetorical."

Poppy couldn't control her smile. "I never thought you'd ask to see a scrapbook. Just, give me a minute." She took a deep breath in and let out a satisfied aaaah like a summer breeze. "I am so excited right now."

She dragged Branch into the common room as he scrambled for a cup of peppermint tea, teacup in one hand and hers in the other. With trailing pink fronds she gathered pillows from shelves and closets to create a crescent-shaped sitting area. Then she plopped down against the pillow wall, taking Branch with her. He folded his legs and sent a band of hair out to the kitchen for a plate to put the teacup on.

Poppy spread her newest scrapbook across their laps and began to retell the story of her adventure. On one page a felt troll danced on sequin waters. Branch ran his fingers over the starry reflective pool. "The lake. That's where I lost you. How much further did you go?"

Poppy turned to the jungle. The whole spread was green except for a pink sprout hidden under a leaf in the far corner. She paused. "What do you see?"

"Well, that's you, and…"

Poppy took his hand and traced the outline of a feline shape camouflaged into the leaves so well a troll wouldn't know it was there until too late. It took up nearly the whole two page spread.

Branch tore his hand away like he'd been bitten. Rather than awe, his face was pinched with worry. Due to the excitement of sharing the book with him, she had not noticed his patient smile dissolving into something else. His words from a moment ago echoed back to her. That's where I lost you.

"You know what?" Poppy said, snapping the book shut. "I know this isn't really your thing. Let's do a puzzle instead. I have an edgeless one around here somewhere."

Branch perked up. "You do?" Then he shook his head. "Ugh. No. Your distraction tactics aren't going to work this time. Show me the rest of the scrapbook."

"I dunno Branch…"

"I want to see what happened." Peppermint spice and everything ice, stubborn blue eyes. Eyes that would forever be free of the suffering she'd seen last night, if she could help it.

"No. I can see this is bothering you, and I won't hurt you again. Not now. Not ever."

Branch spoke into his tea. "Tough. This type of love doesn't come without pain, especially not at first."

"That's not—" she leapt in to tell him he had love all wrong, but then took a second to think. She was confused about where this purported wisdom was coming from. A previous relationship? "How do you know that?"

"Something my mom wrote. Now, let's see that book."

She tilted her head and moved the adventure away from his reach, curious. "What else did she write?"

The sly turquoise grin was a tease. "You don't wanna know. Totally inappropriate."

Oh-ho.

Fine. She gave in to his desires and reopened the scrapbook between them. If there was going to be unhappiness, let it be here, where she could hug it away.

Chalk dust choked the pages, blotting out the insignificant paper troll. Powder bled from mushrooms and coated Poppy's fingertips. In the next scene the character rested in a sleeping bag, its face green and sickly, a thermometer in its mouth and waves of red and blue all around. Poppy pulled a tab and the flat lines of the little troll's eyes fanned into X's. A tongue popped from its mouth.

She turned the page. On the left, a portrait fell from the troll's hair. On the right, dull hands grasped a closeup of that portrait. A happy aqua troll smiled up at the viewer. The following scene showed friends and family floating in the sky above the lost troll in the sleeping bag.

In the exotic gold and white land, a determined pink cutout weaved strands of hair into the clouds and back down to a bowl of water. That same look of determination followed the troll through the next page, and the next, and the next as their outfit grew wilder and more muddied with every turn. The troll went straight through Bummer Territory all the way home.

"It's a work in progress. Lots of details and the ending to do still." Maybe the group hug would be what brought the pink and teal trolls together. Maybe it was a love story.

She chanced a look at Branch's face. It was totally unreadable, a true neutral she couldn't decipher. His faraway gaze turned downward at nothing in particular.

"Hey…" she said, closing the scrapbook and shelving it in her hair. She placed a hand on his leg where the book had been. Branch didn't say anything, but he covered her hand with his.

Finally, his voice came, devoid of any humor or playfulness. Flat. Honest. "I was that close to losing you, huh."

An ache welled up in her soul. Poppy didn't dwell on losing loved ones. When it happened, it happened, and until then she chose not to consider it. Branch did, though. Seeing the shadows on him now was awful. Her chest tightened while she watched him attempt to come to terms with a life where she wasn't there.

What must he be feeling now?

What if she'd sent him to Trollberg and he never came home? If he wasn't there at all? No friendship, no future, nothing. She would've come home to a world without him; when she'd scanned the crowd for his face it would've been in vain. No one would rush into her arms.

"Where's Branch?" she'd ask.

No one looked at her. Even Smidge was downcast, refusing to meet her gaze. Continued silence made Poppy aware of all the muted colors. Dull trolls in the statued crowd parted, making way for someone. It was her dad.

He was old, and tired. Years of struggle weighted gray hair and ran deep over age lines. She realized now the troll standing before her was not her father, but the King. His usually warm brown eyes were full of autumn despair. He didn't think he'd have to do this again. And Poppy knew. She knew what he was going to say.

"He's not coming home."

The Queen who survived the wild understood the finality of those words. There would be no rescue mission, not this time. There was no one alive to save.

Branch was gone. She asked him to protect and he'd done it.

Poppy started to sink.

Everything they'd been through, and now, this… emptiness. The last thing they'd done together – the fuzzy tickle of kissing his hands – watching proud patches and leaves fade into the forest – that was it. She'd never see him again. Ever.

This must be Branch's feeling. This horrible, shredded black hole that sucked everything in, turning happiness inside out and tearing it apart. Poppy's fingers were digging into his leg. He was a smudged azure blur beneath shimmering water. She rubbed the back of her hand over her eyes.

"Branch," she said. It came out as a strangled whimper. That got his attention real quick. "I'm starting to understand what your mom meant about love and pain."

Branch abandoned his own internal struggle and slid his arms around her waist in a comforting circle. "Hey, it's okay," he said in the gentle tone reserved for when she lost sight of what to do. She needed that, needed him. She shifted so she could puzzle into his embrace, pressing her cheek against velvety vest leaves. Branch's protective circle became firm and committed.

He said, "We'll get through this. I got a little scared I might say or do something too soon, that's all."

"...Like what?"

A whuff of air from Branch's silent laugh blew over her hair. No, he wasn't going to tell her. He was becoming wise to her tricks.

Branch continued to cuddle and Poppy welcomed it. The caring touch helped ease the distress of losing him. Maybe being together helped him feel better too, because he didn't let go.

She said, "I never meant to hurt you, or worry everyone. I just… wanted to be a better queen. Strong and independent like dad used to be." She sighed. "I won't run off like that again."

"Okay," Branch said doubtfully, though he held her just a bit tighter. This topic would be a sore spot for a long time.

"I saw my flyer bug today. What happened?"

"Lifesaver got ambushed and couldn't get away. If not for that attack we'd still be out there. And if it weren't for her, I don't know what shape I'd be in right now considering how Bergentown went."

Branch hesitated. Poppy felt him loosen up and look toward the darkening sky in the doorway. He said, "Not that I mind telling the story like this, but your pod isn't the most private of places. Anyone could walk in and our friends are coming over."

"I only get visitors at this hour if it's an emergency. We've got time."

"An emergency," Branch said dryly. "Like whether to serve cupcakes or muffins, or which hairstyle to use tomorrow morning?"

"No, Branch," Poppy laughed. "Actual emergencies. Although for Guy, yes, the style thing."

"If Guy sees this, everyone sees it."

"They'll survive."

"Alright. It's our funeral, I guess." Branch let go and stacked some pillows behind himself to get more comfortable. Then he took her back up in his arms.

He spoke of the battle in the sands and the damage it did to his hair, how helpful Smidge and Cooper had been on the journey. He boasted about the building techniques he taught the team and delved into a technical explanation of methods he'd learned in return. Most of it was way over her head, but Branch was too engrossed to notice.

The hand on her back meandered in little circles and strokes. He probably had no idea he was doing it. Poppy's mind spaced out in different directions, part wishing his touch would end up at the sweet spot along the back of her neck, the other part wanting to caress the softly fuzzed aquamarine skin in front of her.

"Two bergens got into an argument while we were there," he was saying. "Don't you think we should be more careful?"

"What do you mean? Trolls argue too."

"Not like this. It was…" His fairy massage stopped. "It reminded me of fights I saw before we moved here. They would attack each other like growlbeasts." The troll she was curled against grew still. "The cage wasn't there to keep us in. It was to keep everyone else out."

For all the fuss Branch used to make about their "sworn enemies," not once had he mentioned details of life before moving here. In this way he was like every other troll, casting off what awful memories he could and choosing to live in the now. He was terrible at it, but he did try, even though for years it meant living in shades of gray.

For him to talk about the past showed a shocking degree of trust. She gave him a squeeze and tried to ease his fears. "Was there a fight like that this time?"

"Well, no. It just has me thinking."

"The bergens are good people. Try not to worry about it, okay? Try."

A drumroll of fingers tapped her back and he sighed. "Okay. But I'm still keeping an eye and an ear out."

She didn't expect any less.

They lapsed into silence in the nest of pillows. Together time was about to get more crowded. Sensing this, Branch shifted a little. "I don't know how you do it," he said.

"What?"

"This. Everything. Take care of everyone and lead the village. I didn't realize how hard it was until you were gone. Everyone depends on you."

"And I don't know how you lived self-sufficient for so long. I'm used to having help. I waited too long for it out there, almost gave up. But you know," she said, "I enjoy camping if it's not by myself."

"And I can handle a group hug every now and then."

"I thought for sure you'd run yesterday."

"Me too," Branch said. "Turns out I'm happy to stand there forever, if it's with you."

Muscles beneath her coiled as Branch leaned in and sprang his honey-worded trap. Her cheek glowed under the lips tenderly pressed there. Excited fuzzbugs flipped and tumbled in her stomach. She was completely enveloped in his embrace, his arms squeezing her close enough to get the smooch in at this angle. If only she could think clearly through the fuzzbugs, she could turn her head the rest of the way. Cupcakes, she'd done this before. Why was she so nervous?

Branch slipped away and stood up. "I'm getting another tea. Do you want anything?" he asked, as if nothing had happened. His self-satisfied smile told the truth though.

Want anything? For starters, another kiss.

"Uhhh," was what fell gracelessly from her mouth. Branch's eyes joined his smile in being smug. Any other time she'd strive to knock his ego down a notch, but the crinkles at the corners of his eyes were too sprinkling cute.

Branch escaped to the kitchen, knowing full well what he'd done.

Actually, no, she couldn't let him get away with this. She'd be up all night wondering if his kisses were any good. He obviously wanted to kiss her, so the most unexpected thing to do would be to give him exactly what he wanted, no games, no elaborate schemes.

Branch was getting that kiss right now.

She got to her feet.

Ping.

Hug time. Poppy rubbed her hands together evilly.

"Hug time!" Suki shouted from the doorway. Poppy's reflexes put her into her friend's arms before her brain caught up. Cooper and Guy exchanged hugs beside them.

Over Suki's shoulder Poppy saw Branch leaning against the kitchen doorway, hug flower blooming. He toasted her and sipped with a smile that poured over the edges of the teacup and drizzled all over the floor. No doubt he was reliving that moment she'd abandoned him in the bunker with the whole village, except this time he was the one with his hand on the lever, rising up out of reach.

Oh, it was going down. Poppy laser cut her worst game face across the room.

"Aw, you guys started on the pillow fort without us," Suki said. "Definitely needs more pillows though. Good thing I brought so many." She started dumping pillows out of her hair.

Cooper rummaged around under his hat. "I brought snacks. At least, I think I did."

Branch invited Cooper into the kitchen to set up treats. Ah, so he wasn't going to let himself be caught alone. That would've been too easy. He was going to do everything in his power to not get kissed, which made her want it even more just to prove him wrong. Shoot. He was playing right into her instincts. New plan: focus on something other than smooching. Easier said than done with her cheek still tingling and fuzzbugs bumbling around, demanding action.

While they waited for the others to arrive, Poppy took out the fluffy bowl she had for party games and cut up strips of paper. She gathered some larger items out of storage and placed them randomly around the floor. The name of each one went on a slip and into the bowl.

"Oooo, is this what I think it is?" Guy asked.

"Yep. We're going to play Harold."

Harold was a troll so famous for giving up in the middle of party games that the game once known as Hair-Hold was named after him. When you gave up, you had to say his name. The object of the game was to outlast everyone else.

When her friends were together that brought the total players to nine. "Ok gang, you know the rules. Three papers each, name anything you see in this room, drop them in the bowl and pick your spot."

Poppy stalled a bit and made sure she was on the opposite end of the room from Branch. She needed to be able to see the space around him. When everyone was seated she drew a paper from the bowl with her hair. "First one's easy enough. Scrapbook."

All at once multicolored streams went around the room, touching a scrapbook and coming to a stop. Poppy played it safe and picked a book to her immediate left.

After the first draw it was the twins' turn. They played with the bridge of their hair and only had to draw once. If a troll wasn't careful it was easy to get stuck in the connected loop and lose.

The pod quickly became a maze. You couldn't take back what you sent out.

Guy fell on his face. "Harooooold," he sung. "I'm totally boxed in." The silvery path unwound from the game. Others followed over a few more turns, reducing the number of colors to work with.

"Rainbow," Branch read off his paper. He wasn't struggling at all. Cerulean locks casually dropped the paper and looped around Suki's hair to touch a rainbow sticker on the water-damaged friendship collage.

Poppy tinted the tip of her hair orange while she weaved it around a band of Branch's hair from a previous turn. Then she dipped back to pink to touch the rainbow on her photo wall, same place Suki picked.

Smidge's mint was getting in the way. If Poppy did nothing she'd be out of the game. Sorry Smidge. On the way to touching a pillow, Poppy closed a loop and tightened.

Smidge tried to draw a paper on her turn. "Oh my gah." Her hair tail struggled halfway to the bowl. "Oh my gah! One of you tied me up and I can't even see who did it! Branch."

"Don't look at me." He shrugged on the other side of the room behind a criss-crossed web of color.

Biggie's hands were at his scalp. "Smidge, say Harold before you throw everyone like last time! And by the way, Harold! I can't get out until you do."

Biggie's hair was entangled several times over. Poppy made some quick color changes while the two friends dropped out of the game. That left her, Suki, and Branch.

"Just so you know," Branch said, "the two of you don't stand a chance against me. See how organized this is?" He folded his arms behind his head and lounged against the blue bands of hair behind him. Poppy felt the pull when he did it.

Suki said, "I kinda just put my hair wherever. Not much left, though." There wasn't. The chill troll was happy to give up two turns later.

"Red ball."

"The ceiling."

"Biggie's nose," Poppy read. Biggie squawked "What!" just before tendrils of pink and blue booped his nose.

"Trophy."

She felt the strain kicking in from holding so much in place.

"Face it Poppy," Branch said. "I've got you beat."

It would be tough to keep playing. "Oh darn," she said, swinging her fist in mock defeat. "You got me. Harold!"

Branch leapt up. "Ha! Yes!" He did a victory dance in place, reeling the zigzagged azure hair back in. He may as well be pulling two ends of a knot to tighten it. Blue bands closed in on him. He danced without a care, figuring it'd come undone as he brought his hair back.

Bewilderment spread over his face when his hair wrapped him up in a cocoon. Gotcha. With a firm tug on her end, the line secured to the ceiling hoisted Branch up so he was floating on his stomach, legs dangling free. The surprise on his face was priceless.

Guy burst out laughing. "Poppy set a trap. She got you goOOooOod!"

Everyone was laughing now. The sooner they'd Harolded out, the sooner they'd noticed what was going on.

"But, I don't get it," Branch said. "I thought I…"

Poppy let the color change go. The room came alive with magenta hair twisted and intermingled with blue. Everything holding Branch was pink. His eyes grew wide with realization.

She explained. "You see, Harold wasn't so concerned with winning. Yes he lost, but he did it in a fun way."

Poppy looped the free end of her hair to tickle the tip of Branch's nose. She ran the soft plume down to his lips and tapped before withdrawing.

"Troll piñata!" Cooper shouted.

"No, Cooper," Branch warned with rising panic, back-pedaling his legs and going nowhere. "Nononono!"

Cooper bunched his head against Branch's side, coiled like a spring, and sent his buddy swinging. Of course Cooper didn't think to get out of the pendulum's path. He was promptly smacked in the face and sent sprawling onto his back in a fit of chuckles. "I did not think this through!"

"Ya think!" Branch shouted as he sailed over Guy's head. A river of orange caught him.

"Hey Smidge, over here," Suki said, carefully passing the Branch cocoon in an arc around the room.

Now all hope was lost, and the game of Branch-pass began. He suffered it with annoyed patience, up until the point he realized he could propel off the pod walls with his feet to avoid whoever was "it." Then he became spirited. Poppy was still trying to untangle herself without laughing.

Guy's hair snatched Branch up in midair and brought the flustered troll back to Poppy. "I believe this is yours."

"Why thank you Guy, I will accept this prize for best in show." She held onto Branch so he wouldn't swing off again and restart the insanity. Guy helped her lower him to the ground. The diamond glitter troll was quick to jump into a background argument over which game to play next, leaving her alone with her prize.

Branch had come a long way to take that kind of teasing in stride. He really was one of a kind. She enjoyed spending time with him, being near him...

She loosened the strands around his waist with her hands even though she could've done it hair-only. This is how it would be, close like this. Where would she put her hands? Along his hips, or on his shoulders, maybe slide up and around to pull him in if it got passionate. Heat tinged her cheeks.

Branch's words were exasperated but loving. "Are you ever going to let me win in peace?"

Poppy didn't reply. She recalled her hair, zipping it around Branch so he was free. Only then did she look up and let him see exactly what she was thinking about. She held his gaze with a sultry heat that said, kiss me.

Branch's hands stopped halfway to her arms, then halfway to her waist. He bit his lip and flicked his gaze to where their friends were. Indecision stuttered on his face. There was no way he was going to kiss her in front of everyone: she knew this. That's why she continued to beckon him through lowered eyelashes.

Branch made a sound somewhere between a groan and a growl. He took a step back. He looked toward the kitchen where some of the others were getting into the snacks. Then he considered the open doorway to her pod. The sound of a late night jam session meant no privacy out there, either. He glanced at her and the door again. He was actually considering it.

"We're playing spoons. Do you two want us to deal you in or not?" Smidge asked from the floor circle.

"Oooo! Yes!" Poppy leapt into a spot with enough room for two trolls. Branch took the opportunity to be next to her.

That was how the night went. Sometimes together, sometimes not, spending time with friends while casting secret looks at one another. Poppy was having a hard time keeping up, though. The hair exercise took more energy out of her than she anticipated.

Chenille noticed. She came to the rescue. "Ugh. That's enough noise and craziness. Let's do something relaxing."

Pajamas on, teeth brushed, sleeping leaves unfurled haphazardly in and around the pillow fort. Stepping around pillows and bodies in the middle of the night was half the fun.

Branch bravely chose the one place with plenty of space: the isolated moat around Smidge. He built a pillow wall on the Smidge side. "Not getting karate-chopped in the nose this time," he announced.

"I remember that," Cooper said. "You were yowling like a baby, woke the whole neighborhood up."

"Because having my face smashed in at 2:00 in the morning is such a great feeling," Branch said with uber positivity.

"...It is?" Suki asked.

"No!"

Cooper said, "You're the only one insane enough to get near her when she sleeps, dude."

"Please. I'm definitely not the only one. Plus, she protects me from all of you." Branch flipped over to face the wall, ignoring the chorus of aww's.

The lights-out conversation turned to Poppy's adventure, so she told the story and the room grew hushed as one by one her friends drifted to sleep. Poppy had her eyes closed, thinking about Branch with his back turned across the room.

Yes, they were headed into the crazy phase where no amount of time together would be enough, but after that, would he get bored or annoyed and want to move on? Lots of trolls enjoyed that temporary arrangement. It wasn't her jam. But it could be his.

She better ask before it was too late, because thinking of him now, she knew exactly what this fluttering feeling was. It wasn't beating, but it was there, growing stronger with each special moment they shared.


	24. Glitter Frosting

He was in love with Poppy.

It wasn't a crush.

It wasn't infatuation.

He loved her.

He'd known it for a while, probably longer, but he didn't dare admit it until now. He lay on his side and that was all he could think about, the white noise of sleepover talk behind him.

She'd accepted his offer. She'd held him, snuggled close, fallen asleep. He'd carried her home, thought about staying, decided against it in case she changed her mind with time to think. Everything still felt raw, fragile; he was concerned he'd screw this up and ask for too much too soon.

Then she'd looked at him with those alluring eyes. He'd almost kissed her on the spot.

She wanted to kiss him.

Longing squeezed his heart and he clenched his teeth, trying not to think about it. He fervently hoped he'd trip over Smidge and trigger her wrath if he so much as took a step towards Poppy's bed.

The previous night at the bunker didn't feel right. He'd collected Crocko from the library and held the precious gift while he slept. He didn't want to be alone anymore.

In the morning he tried to make himself presentable.

"Going somewhere?" Guy asked in a suave, suggestive tone.

Branch had to grin because he wasn't trying to look good for Poppy – okay that too – but he did have somewhere to be. "As a matter of fact, I am."

Poppy tipped her head up, a spoon of cereal halfway to her mouth. Her hair was all mussed from sleep. He wanted to run his hands through it.

"You're leaving?" she asked.

Smidge cleared her throat and held up a checklist. "Remember, this morning you have a meeting at the party factory, a festival committee, you wanted to organize the Trollberg trolls, Gia's birthday is today, and Aspen Heights is sick. He was supposed to be the announcer for tomorrow's glitterball game. Also, the fuzzlings want you to approve a new building site."

"Sounds fun," Poppy said cheerily through a mouthful of cereal. "They usually don't ask my opinion on buildings. I have free time tonight, though right?" She was looking at him.

A mail bee zipped into the kitchen with a message for the queen. As soon as Poppy opened it a joyful shout brought Suki stumbling into the room, still in her pajamas. She had a letter in her hands too.

"Poppy, Poppy," Suki begged. "You have to let me do the music for my niece's gem day."

A gem flower bloom. That meant Poppy would be prepping for the ceremony tonight. Didn't she have enough to do already? Branch kicked himself for adding to her plans. She needed rest.

"I'll see you tomorrow, maybe," he said over the excitement. Poppy was torn, but she wasn't willing to snub everyone else to spend time with him. He wished she would and felt selfish for thinking it. You didn't fall in love with strawberry ice cream and expect it to stop being strawberry.

Branch set off on his errands, starting with a visit to Peppy's.

"Branch, you're just in time. I'm off for some good ol' fishing on Glitter River. How about it? Nothing like a little father-friend bonding."

"I, uh, huh. Okay," Branch said as he realized the positives here far outweighed the fact fishing required patience. "Can I borrow some books out of the archives for the trip?"

"Oh don't bother with those dreary old things. How about one of these?" Peppy browsed through an extensive collection shelved along the wall, suggesting various titles.

"Those all sound great, but it's the dreary ones I need."

"Well," Peppy's jolly speech dipped into hesitation. "I don't like them leaving the archives. You know how trolls are. Scrapbook one minute, bubble bath the next. But if it's you, eh, why not."

Finally, being responsible paid off.

Upstairs Branch stayed out of the curtained nooks with private books meant for specific trolls. What he was after was anything to do with heartbreak. He didn't want to keep Peppy waiting, so he picked the most likely books. If he didn't feel satisfied with these he could try again later.

Peppy hummed an old fishing tune on the way to the river. They picked out a boat bug and launched off into clear, glittery waters. Branch fanned his hair out for shade, cast a line, and thumbed through one of the books.

Peppy was content to fish and snooze. Branch liked that about Poppy's dad: unless he got into telling one of his stories he knew how to enjoy quiet. Maybe being king for so long made him that way. Or maybe it was the first half of his leadership, where noise had the tendency to attract unwanted bergen attention.

Branch recalled the king being this monolithic personality with a booming voice, a far cry from the mellow, carefree troll fishing beside him.

"Do you think Poppy will be like you when she retires?"

Peppy chuckled. "Hard to imagine her any different than she is now. But being in charge all the time teaches you to appreciate when you're not." He tipped his head to where Branch was keeping an eye on the bug boat. "Besides, no troll stays the same. I think you know that, though."

Point taken. Branch hummed an acknowledgement and went back to reading.

> A broken heart can happen to any troll with a partner who doesn't survive Trollstice. The heart itself cracks or chips. In severe cases it splits into pieces. Over time hearts will knit back together in the presence of the owner's troll gem.

The more Branch read, the more he was certain there was no known cure for what Poppy wanted to fix. No cases of a missing heart appeared.

> Trolls have a million and one cures for a broken heart. There is only one thing that works: time.

Those were his mom's words. The aged scrapbooks gave details, but ultimately his mom's eloquent handwriting summarized them all. There was no new information.

Branch reeled in the puny fish tugging his line and threw it back with a double disappointed, "Augh."

"Maybe we'll have better luck with this one," Peppy said, giving his fishing pole an upward heave. Branch shielded his face from the blast of water. An immense silver field of scales in the sky came rocketing down at them.

"Jump!" Branch shouted, only to find himself suspended mid-leap. The rest of Peppy's hair slammed into the fish and drove it onto the river bank.

"That's how you land a glitter fish," Peppy said, setting Branch back in the boat. "Take us to shore and let's get that glitter. Trolly-ho!"

Scraping glitter off the scales turned out to be a huge mess. Branch rubbed the file in broad strokes along his side of the catch, spraying silver speckles everywhere. The flecks got caught in his fuzz and peppered his hair. He looked like he'd been gutting the fish, not scaling it.

"Would you like me to show you a trick?" Peppy asked.

Branch grimaced, swallowing his pride. "Anything to get this over with."

"Oh Branch, don't be such a sourpuss. Live a little! Here."

With expert precision Peppy scraped the file against the grain, one scale at a time. The glitter came off quick and formed a pile alongside the fish. Branch tried the technique and it made the experience tolerable. Maybe even fun. Maybe.

Peppy bagged up the glitter while Branch pushed the fish back into the water before it lost its patience and started flopping. In the midst of this a sharp peck stung his ear. The paper airplane tanked into the grass.

> Something set off your net in the clearing by the cliff. It wasn't me this time!  
> ✴ Guy Diamond ✴

Branch explained he had to go and Peppy handed him a sack of glitter. "Give this to Poppy for me will you?"

The cliff meadow was a serene spot past the pods on the quiet side of the village. Not as many trolls came through, which made it a potential area for predators to stake out their prey. Branch kept an active trap here for that reason.

Shade from long-stemmed flowers felt refreshing after being in the sun all morning. Apparently he wasn't the only one who saw the appeal, since a picnic blanket and basket were spread out under the petal canopy. A sinking feeling hit him. He'd caught the wayward picnickers. Poppy was not going to like this.

The net wasn't deployed. He checked the overhead trap. Untriggered, net still bunched up inside. Strange.

"Branch? What are you doing here?"

The sound of Poppy's voice woke his heart up from its nap.

She approached from the other end of the clearing. An explosive splash of purple and yellow icing skated over her arms and dress. She squinted at him and her confusion went up a level. "What happened to you?"

"Your dad." He held out the glitter, a trail of sparkles following his silvery arm. Poppy's eyes shimmered in delight. Based on the amount of craft supplies she went through this must be a treasure.

He didn't think he'd get to see her today. He felt really good, warm, hopeful. Could he have that kiss now? "Guy said I netted something, but he told me the wrong place."

"Smidge said lunch with the balloon festival committee was here."

They stared at each other while the odd coincidences tallied up. Poppy's left ear ever so slightly turned outward. She cocked an eyebrow. Yes, he heard it too. Both of them looked to the lone picnic. Definitely not enough there for a festival committee.

"Well Branch, since you're here, why don't you join me for the lunch meeting?" Her eyes didn't leave his.

"I really think I should check my traps," he said, holding Poppy's gaze.

The smack of a face-palm rang out behind the bushes. Branch's grin deepened.

Poppy backed up to the blanket, hands clasped behind her back. "Ok. I'll be here sad and alone making this face while I wait for everyone."

She sat and pulled her knees in, resting her nose on top. Big begging cuddlepup eyes pleaded for his attention beneath scattered bangs. He couldn't even muster a fake grumble at such an adorable look. He joined her on the blanket a casual friend distance away.

"Great," Poppy perked up instantly. "I'm so glad we're alone," she said louder than necessary. "I can't wait to spend a whole hour talking about this wonderful weather we're having."

Branch matched Poppy's overbearing volume. "Privacy? In Troll Village? I think maybe we should save our intimate weather conversation for later."

"You know what? You're right. Let's talk about finances," she said.

"I'm _sure_ I have _nothing_ better to do than list _all_ the favors I owe around the village." He started into his accounts. "Food and water for a flyer bug, using the queen's pod as a base of operations, a coffee maker, enough goods to restock an entire pantry – let me itemize that for you – eight soup packets (four veggie medley and four spicy stew), one burleberry salad, one rosencrest salad, three melons, a dozen eggs…" he kept the list rolling.

"Don't worry," Poppy said over top of him. "If you run out we can go over my accounts. It's all right here." She took out a clipboard and clicked the top clasp open, allowing the multi folded sheet to flip down and across the ground.

"...a cement mixer, six support beams, new clothes from Satin and Chenille, I had help moving stuff around yesterday afternoon, lunch at the market, and I think they're finally gone now."

"Go team!" Poppy leapt up and thrust her open palm to the sky. Branch delivered a hugely satisfying dead-on high five. The smack echoed through the trees, accompanied by the ting of the only two hug watches around.

Poppy was in his arms again and everything was amazing. This beautiful, frustratingly clever troll fit as perfectly against him as she did into his life. She'd tricked their friends into giving them privacy. He wanted to look into her lovely eyes. He wanted a taste of proof he wasn't the only one going crazy here.

He started to pull away so he could lure her back in a whole new manner, but Poppy distanced herself. Her dress peeled off of him, leaving a huge blurred smudge of frosting down to his knees. Silver glitter sparkled on the queen's icing-splattered clothes.

Branch looked down at his matching glitter frosting. "Well, this isn't obvious."

Poppy had her hands over her mouth. "I'm so, so sorry," she said, flustered, digging through her hair. She pulled out scissors, glue, a microphone, the checklist, and kept searching.

"It's fine, really," he said sincerely, though he was frustrated Poppy's uncharacteristic concern with their appearances had ended any forward progress. "What happened anyway?"

"Tripped on a frosting hose." She rummaged through the picnic basket and sprayed a fistful of napkins with a squirt bottle, shoving them in his general direction. Then she disappeared into a ball of pink hair. "Good thing I prepared for something like this."

Good thing _he_ prepared for something like this, Branch thought, picking one of the leaves out of his vest pocket and trying not to consider why he was carrying them around. Sharp mint zing filled his mouth while he did what he could to clean the frosting off himself. After a minute Poppy emerged in a clean dress.

Now that they were alone Poppy couldn't sit still. Her fingers continually tried to tuck back a rebellious bang. She checked herself over for icing remnants. She launched into the picnic basket and distributed items with flawless picnic setting etiquette. Perfect wasn't good enough, since she was tweaking the fork positions over and over again.

"Are you nervous?" Branch asked in disbelief.

"Of course I'm nervous!" Poppy blurted. "I'm scared, okay? I don't know if you... " She looked at her hands, shaking her head and searching for words. "Have you ever been in a long-term relationship?"

"Nothing more than a few months," he said, suddenly feeling like he was walking on toothpicks. At the same time a swell of protectiveness urged him to hold her until she wasn't scared. He stayed put.

"Have you ever felt like this before?" Poppy asked.

"Never."

"It doesn't last. This intense feeling, it goes away."

"I know."

"It – huh?" She stopped her explanation. He'd surprised her again. He may not have experienced it for himself, but he'd read about it.

Branch spread his hands and tried to soothe her with words she told him all the time. "We're trolls, right? Shouldn't we embrace the feeling and enjoy it while it lasts?"

"Yes! No! Ugh," Poppy dissolved in frustration. "I'm not like that, Branch. I can't just be in love with someone and then walk away as if it was nothing." She became quiet. "And I'm scared that maybe you can."

He'd said the wrong thing, then. Poppy wasn't afraid of the heady craziness of a new romance; she was afraid that feeling was all he wanted. To be fair a lot of trolls preferred that lifestyle. He couldn't think of any type of relationship he wanted less.

Given the choice he'd rather be alone than struggle through unfamiliar territory with no chance to settle. He wanted to build a home where he didn't have to worry about the walls caving in. He wanted to cross the hall and kiss Poppy knowing it was safe, knowing he could do that whenever he wanted without question, but right now he was pretty sure if he walked away from the brace he was holding up they'd both be crushed. He needed her help to nail this thing down, but apparently she didn't realize it, thinking he was outside frolicking through the desert toward whichever mirage had the most water.

"Poppy," he said, calling her attention.

He couldn't help it; he needed physical connection to say this. They were sitting beside each other. His hand rested over hers.

"I don't want anyone else. I'll stay by your side for as long as you want me, and I really, really hope it's a lot longer than three days."

He watched the uncertainty in Poppy's eyes soften. Her posture relaxed. They both desired the same thing. With a longing last gaze, he gave her hand a gentle squeeze and let go.

Branch turned his attention to the covered containers sitting before them. "Let's see what our friends picked out for a picnic date. It better not be spaghetti."

The nearest bowl contained a leafy salad to share. Fresh fruit and candied nuts crowned the top. He hadn't tried this kind before. It looked tasty. There must be a pair of tongs around here somewhere.

"Branch." His name, soft, a one-word song any time she said it.

Poppy was still beside him. A hand draped over her lap, legs neatly folded to the side, one on top of the other. All she needed was a hat with a ribbon and she'd look like a painting. Greenery cast her bold color in high relief. Tall flower stems and speckles of sprouts filled the background.

The troll he'd waited his whole life to find chose that moment to give him her full, undivided attention.

Vivid magenta irises met with his own. He forgot what he was doing. His hand moved to the blanket between them: a question. Soft caress of her fingertips over that offer, light pressure as she leaned in. He ignored the sudden jitter of nerves and tipped closer to her, because she was looking at him like she wanted… to…

He closed his eyes.

Under the black velvet curtain a bright melody pressed against his own. One sweet, simple note was all he could handle. His heart throbbed. A mix of relief and anxiety over her impending reaction crowded his emotions.

"Ohthankgoodness," his duet partner said a mile away.

The curtain snapped open. "What's wrong?" he asked, feeling a little sick at her odd comment. Did she not like it? He wanted her to feel good.

Her shy, honest smile put him at ease. "Nothing. I was worried you might not be, um, good at this."

Such an innocent kiss hardly proved anything. Branch felt the side of his mouth quirk into a roguish grin. "Only one way to find out."

Poppy's mouth dropped open in astonishment before shifting to a flirty smile of her own. "Branch!" she scolded, nudging his shoulder with a fist. Playfulness stirred his courage. He added a raised eyebrow to his grin, letting the offer stand. She gazed back at him thoughtfully. Then she leaned in.

This time the intimate contact sparked a welcoming, excited feeling. Fingers brushing his cheek swept away all fears of rejection. The hand cupping his face left no doubt she was happy to experience this with him. It was pure joy. Branch couldn't help ruining the soft kiss by smiling into it. A puff of air tickled from Poppy's hmm'ed laugh against his lips, which only made him smile harder. She gave up and quickly kissed the corner of his mouth. Light, and fun. He didn't know a kiss could be like that.

Smitten, Branch watched her step around the dishes and take a seat across from him. His hand subconsciously moved to his chest at the expanding warm sensation within. An old wound healed. These were the first kisses he would remember.

Poppy meant so much to him. He wondered how much she could feel with a piece of herself missing. He'd experienced happiness without a gem; did she feel passion without a heart? It was somewhat nerve wracking to ask, but he managed it, looking down where his hand had settled on his chest.

"Did that help?"

"Yeah," she responded with confidence. A lively blush sparkled over her cheerful expression. "Every time I'm with you it helps."

Branch wasn't nervous anymore. Forget the food. He wanted to spend the next half hour sharing little intimacies. Poppy, though, was clearly hungry, filling up her plate with a serving of everything. Alright. He'd flirt with her until she gave him another chance. Hopefully next time she'd want more, because he had a lot to give.

The food was exceptional and so was the view. Poppy was an attractive troll, even a little exotic because of her uniform hue. Her rounded, upward ears made it easy to nuzzle cheeks. Sparkling freckles had a way of drawing him into eyes framed by lush lashes; bold parenthesis encircling the playful, fiery spirit that dwelled within. And her smile… he'd never known the source of that smile would touch his lips and leave him more breathless than before.

Branch brushed the soft, delicate petals of a honeyflower over his lips while he openly contemplated the heart of his affection. No, there was nothing that could compare to the feeling of a kiss from the troll who'd given him a reason to do more than survive. Hopefully the surprise he'd planned would give her some notion of how much she meant to him. He popped the flower into his mouth and savored the honey flavor.

Poppy watched him the whole time. Her gaze drifted languidly over his glitter-covered self. Calm and content, she munched a toasted pita flatbread stuffed with veggies, cheese, and herbs.

"Which of our friends do we need to thank?" he asked.

"Smidge and Guy. I think Suki picked the food. She has good taste. The others I'll have to ask."

"I'll make the thank-you cards for those three and you handle the rest?"

As he said this, Poppy's face froze in excitement. "I just had _the best_ idea."

Well, her lips weren't perked up in that O shape so the level of craziness couldn't be that high. Branch saw the opportunity and took it. "Can 'we' schedule this crazy idea of yours soon? I'd like to spend more time with you."

Poppy's cheeks flushed at his candor. She made a note on paper. "Good thinking. If it's in the schedule it takes priority. Unless, you know, a swarm of angry grossums attack the village."

"Don't jinx it."

After eating they packed up the picnic set. Poppy had ceremony preparation to get back to, he had thank-yous to assemble, plus an entire farm full of weeds that he couldn't find motivation to deal with. Anything not related to Poppy felt like a chore.

During cleanup a mail bee brought the message he'd been waiting for. He made a decision right then and there. The fields were going to be choked with weeds this year. A less-than-optimal harvest wouldn't kill him. Hopefully.

Poppy gripped the picnic basket handle in both hands and regarded him with curiosity, but said nothing about the letter. He gave no explanation.

They stood facing each other. It was time to go. The basket was like a wall.

"Don't stay out all night at the gem day ceremony," he said.

"I'm planning to go home right after the presentation."

"I'll see you tomorrow?" he hoped. He knew she was still recovering and they were both busy.

"The day after, I think. I'll send a card."

This was goodbye.

Neither of them moved. Overhead, flower petals swayed in the breeze.

Poppy stepped closer and discovered she couldn't go any further on account of the basket pressing into his knees. Startled, she looked down and tittered a cute laugh that pushed the corners of his mouth up even further. She put the basket aside.

Confident arms slid around the back of his neck and he got a glimpse of those laughing pink irises before Poppy brought her head over his shoulder, nuzzling the side of his face with her own. He pushed into it, reveling in the sensation of her supple skin. He craved more of this, more of everything.

A sultry ribbon of hair glided across the back of his vest, over an arm, winding a soft serve twist around and down one of his legs. Self control slipped and his lips alighted upon her bare shoulder, letting her know if she wanted to go down this road he absolutely would follow.

"Can't believe you used the 'we're trolls' argument on me," she teased.

He released the feather kiss and murmured into her, "Next you'll be giving me safety lectures."

"Actually…"

She wanted to play. He wanted to keep kissing her. The intimate swirl around his leg rewound, its satin caress guaranteeing she would be on his mind as long as he was awake and then some.

They said their goodbyes and Branch walked away from happiness, looking over his shoulder a couple of times to see her set free, racing, skipping, dancing to wherever she needed to be next.

Should he have said something? Nah. He smirked and went to work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll give one warning to cover everything in this fic so I can avoid spoiling specific chapters. There will be direct and indirect mention of intimate activities. My only guarantee is there will be no explicit M-rated sex scenes. That's not much protection when I'm pretty sure I could make even a mundane boring activity more sensual than some lemons are. xD


	25. Rainbow Fireflies

Poppy checked her hands. She wasn't glowing, but everyone kept looking at her like she was. It wasn't until she stood in front of the mirror to don the gem day ceremonial dress that she saw it: a dusting of glitter on her face, a thick band of it around her back, and, most incriminating of all, a distinct sparkling lip print on one shoulder.

Branch! He let her skip off like that! She smeared out the shape before she got on stage.

The next day dragged on and on. She wanted to spend time with people, yes, but she kept hoping to see that flash of cerulean and moody aquamarine moving against forest greens. A list of romantic places in the village rolled through the back of her mind. She couldn't pick. No big. They'd just visit _all_ of them.

"Poppy, are you sure it's okay to take this many flyer bugs to Trollberg?" Creek asked. He was concerned about upsetting the natural balance.

"It'll be fine. Besides, everyone needs to be able to come back to the village whenever they want. Our neighbors don't like noise, glitter cannons, flashing lights, so all those emergency parties have to happen here." Again she thought of Branch's need for solitude. She couldn't live at the bunker. She couldn't. Could she?

"In that case we are prepared to depart," Creek said.

The trolls were excited to begin their new adventure. They had everything they needed: places to stay, bergen-friendly party supplies, and each other. She cued the start of the song on her ukulele, its flower blooming when she sang.

The village joined the chorus, bouncing and waving flags, dancing and cheering from the treetops. Flyer bugs took to the air. Today Trollberg was getting its very first residents. Tug's Bus Ride to Bergentown would include a stop at the new location. Soon Trollberg would be ready for longer stays as a home-away-from-home. She could visit Bridget for longer, get to know more bergens, and have a safe spot to go at night.

It didn't matter how excited she was about Trollberg. Time continued to crawl like a worm.

He should've been at the send-off. It was unlike him to skip an event she personally organized, not unless he was sick or depressed or tracking some critter.

"Cooper, have you seen Branch today?"

"Yep! Right over there." Cooper pointed up at an empty tree limb.

"No, Cooper, I mean Branch."

"Ohhhh. You mean that branch." He pointed to a bough.

"The troll."

"Ok now I'm just confused. That's a branch, not a troll. Or am I standing on my head again?"

Cooper was, in fact, standing on his head. Poppy grabbed a scrapbook, turned it upside down, and pointed out the teal papercraft inside.

"Good old dunkle Branch. He's working on that underground hole, says it needs more space."

What in the world did he need more room for? He had everything a troll could possibly not want, like endless solitude, confined spaces, canned creamy swamp moss, and Monopoly. Her mood sank. There really was no way she could live there. She'd be so far away from everyone.

"That's a weird looking smile," Cooper observed.

Cooper was right. She should be having fun, not worrying about this. Surely there was a way for both her and Branch to get what they needed. Surely.

Poppy unfolded the plain note from her hair, its creases already soft from being opened so many times. Smack dab in the center of the parchment deep navy ink scrawled a single phrase. _I'll be there._

She squeaked and put the good luck charm back. Finally they'd get proper together time. It was for a generous cause, although she had an ulterior motive that involved a visit to a certain spot. She wouldn't have dared share the hidden piece of fantasy until now.

The closer she got to her date with him, the more excited she became. Ok technically not a date but close enough. She wouldn't have been able to sleep at all, except for the fact she was still tired from the solo camping trip. The anticipation was killing her.

What should she wear today? She pawed through the closet. Plum blazer with black tie and dark slacks: too professional. Rainbow t-shirt and shorts: too casual. Floor-length gown with ruffled train down the back: too elegant. The leaf cape: too soon. That was special.

"Smidge, what do you think?" She held up two of her favorite occasion dresses, both comfortable but clearly different than her day-to-day outfits. One was a cheerful yellow with a top secured by straps that gathered into a cute bow at the back. Its skirts flared out from the waist and reached her knees. The other option was a deep royal purple gown, form-fitting and flexible, satiny soft. It hugged her hips and dropped to her toes, where the color dipped to star flecked midnight. It was completely strapless.

"Isn't this more a question for the twins?" Smidge asked.

Poppy ran along the troll tree, hangers in hand, shouting, "Satin! Chenille!"

"Uh-oh. Fashion emergency," Satin said when Poppy jumped into the pod and thrust the options up.

"Purple or yellow?" Poppy panted.

The twin sisters looked at each other, sharing some kind of invisible conversation. Then they regarded the dresses. "Yellow," both said.

Poppy wasn't quite expecting that, let alone for them to agree. "Really? Don't you think the dark one is more—"

"Poppy," Chenille interrupted with a hand on her hip. "How much do you want Branch to have his hands all over you?"

Her cheeks burned. She hadn't said anything about what they'd been up to. But yeah, now that she looked at it, the midnight gown was… inviting.

Poppy felt Satin clip a sunflower where her felted crown should be. Chenille circled around with a critical eye. "We should really do something about her hair. It needs a trim."

"And she should wear it loose," Satin added.

"Maybe some eyeshadow." Chenille dug through an extensive makeup kit.

"No!" Satin said. "No makeup. Not his type."

Chenille scoffed and rolled her eyes, plucking a powder brush from the kit. "Yeah sis, I'm pretty sure his 'type' is just Poppy. Let me do her face."

Satin waved her arms to keep the makeup at bay. "Chenille, hurry and book an appointment at the salon," she whined.

That was how Poppy ended up accomplishing her morning queen tasks with a fresh haircut and a yellow dress stashed inside so it didn't get covered in frosting, glitter, paint, glue, or anything else. Chenille never managed to get around Satin for makeup duty.

Poppy changed and waited for Branch to arrive, the last of a tangy hard candy dissolving on her tongue. Giddy excitement had her vibrating in place.

Apparently she wasn't the only one who decided to dress up.

Branch wore his town outfit from before, the vest with embroidered leaves along the opening. His evergreen shorts complimented the decoration in his hair: a pine cone nestled in a pair of leaves and blueberries. A forked twig pinned the ornament in place.

"Someone's looking very handsome today," she said.

Her honest opinion was rewarded with a big, fluffy Branch smile. "Any chance the lovely troll queen would care to share what today's adventure is?"

This was fun. She could get used to this. "Location scouting! We need to pick the best spot for a starlight picnic."

"Scouting during the day for a night picnic."

"Shush. Now's when I have time. We have a lot to get through, so we better hurry."

Branch followed her through a whirlwind tour of Picnic Plains, Butterfly Hills, a secluded nook alongside the river, the place where two trees' roots adjoined in an arc to make a cozy cove, the grove of semitransparent mushrooms, a hidden moss circle inside a ring of boulders, the rainbow pools, and more.

"I thought I knew the village but I had no idea some of these places existed. How many more _are_ there?" Branch asked.

"Another twenty or so."

"Twenty?! Let me see that list." Branch scanned the paper. "Can we eliminate some of these?"

"You… don't want to see them with me?"

"I do, but a little slower. Okay a lot slower. We did the first half at your pace. Let's do a few at mine."

Fair enough. Even though it worried her they'd skip the ideal spot, she helped Branch narrow down what was left to the top three possibilities.

Now that they weren't running, he strolled alongside as close as a troll could get without touching. Everyone they passed greeted them both, together. It was exhilarating. But what amazed her was she wasn't the only one returning pleasantries. Every time Branch returned a greeting, every time he initiated one, the fizzy feeling inside expanded until she thought she might burst.

"Oooooo~" Keith called at them from the group of kids playing on the mushroom bounce. All the little heads turned to look.

"Just ignore him," Branch said.

Poppy thought Keith had the right idea. She brushed her pinky over Branch's hand. Without hesitation he twined his fingers with hers. The children giggled.

Hand in hand the queen and her escort traveled into Black Rock, the ominous skull-shaped cavern on the far reaches of the village. Poppy guided Branch straight down the main tunnel, made a left at the offshoot, and stepped along an increasingly lichen-covered stone shaft.

They emerged outside in nature's private garden. Rich green moss blanketed the intimate clearing and the tumble of stones around it. Pastel flowers speckled mossy stones, attracting tiny butterflies that floated from petal to petal. A dense curtain of leaves and vines draped around the ringed garden. Overhead a patch of blue sky shone light into the circle: bright spots contrasting with deep forest shade.

The air here was thicker, heavier. Poppy's feet sank into the spongy moss and Branch's hand was hot in hers. He let go as she moved to the center of the circle, folds of the yellow dress rippling over her legs and the bow tickling the back of her neck. The ukulele was at her fingertips. There was a wordless song rising within. This feeling...

Her eyes closed and she let that emotion flow from the strings, tender, sweet, soothing. Even from the dark she knew the world around was waking up. Butterflies fanned their wings in wavy patterns. Chh chh of rustling vines brushed the music. Critters hummed. Her song grew wider with each creature that joined, and then, rising beneath it, came the deep sound of another instrument.

The flute gave voice to words she didn't have, creating a melody for her harmony. It surged below the bright ukulele chords, then started to push up, up, bumping against her notes, dancing above them, swirling around and around encouraging her to play. So she did. She plucked out a melody on top of the chords, the flute dropping to a low, supportive thrum. It came back with a response when her solo ended, and she rose to the challenge, each time more passionate than the last.

Strumming, she opened her view to the sight of Branch on the other side of the glen, his eyes closed, all his attention poured into playing. His face was serene. Fingers flicked over the vertical handcrafted flute. Branch never played this instrument except for call and response. The only other time she'd heard it was in rare flashes as a whisper from somewhere deep within the woods, always alone.

He opened his eyes and held her gaze with intent. They were playing for nobody but each other, now. Hearing the outpouring of emotion from Branch's music and seeing him make it while looking at her, into her, was almost too intense.

They riffed off each other, each time the improvisation getting closer to the other until they were playing the same melody together, a rising blend of high and low. Poppy couldn't tear her gaze away. The music swelled.

As one they landed on an amorous, sustained note.

All the butterflies flared their wings open in a riot of color and pattern. Budding flowers burst into full bloom and the moss sparkled. Musical accompaniment critters fell into a graceful diminuendo.

Into the quiet she played the melody with him one more time, slower, softer. The final sounds draped over the garden in an emerald glow.

Pinpricks on her skin wouldn't settle down. Whatever they'd just done felt exhilarating, raw, maybe even a little… naughty.

She wanted to do it again.

Poppy idly strummed happy chords, feeling the sun's heat shimmer over her hair. Branch was watching her with a look she couldn't quite place. Relaxed and open, a hint of dreaminess in his eyes and smile, but there was something hard and focused about it too. Like he wanted something.

"Do you want to try the next place?" she asked.

"Mmm." Branch looked up at the circle of sky. "I was thinking this one."

It didn't sound like he was talking about location scouting at all.

They better skip right to the last spot. "We can come back," she said, crossing the moss to reach him. "I want to show you one more option."

She coaxed him to follow. Branch was in no rush to leave, and since she wanted to hold his hand she was forced to enjoy a pleasant stroll to the grove with plenty of time to think and look. The pine cone hair flair was adorable.

"Guy Diamond's idea," Branch said.

"I like it."

Poppy wanted to kiss that pleased smile. She couldn't wait any longer. She let go of Branch and raced ahead, hoping he'd follow. He did.

"Poppy! Wait—"

"We're here! Firefly Grove."

There wasn't much to see at this hour. Clear sunlight, grass, and a rocky gray cliff rambled along the backside of the grove. A couple of bushes and shrubs grew against the cliff. There were no fireflies.

"Gotta say, the fireflies really sell this place," Branch said.

"Where do you think they go during the day?" she shot back.

Poppy traversed the field over to a weeping mulberry by the rocks. Its drooping boughs were thick with leaves, green waterfalls spouting from the tree's trunk and spilling onto the ground. She wedged her hair into the curtain and pulled back so Branch had enough space to enter.

The leaves closed behind them.

Cool evernight air touched her skin under the shroud of darkness. In the low light it was possible to see Branch circle the mulberry trunk, taking it all in. The cush of his footsteps ruffled quiet ambiance.

All around them rainbow fireflies glowed and faded, luminous lights twinkling in grass and along leaves. Colors came and went in lazy, drifting paths through the air.

She sunk down to the midnight green and sat. Fireflies bloomed like hug watches in the dark, enclosed space. "This reminds me of then," she said.

Branch brushed his hand along the mulberry bark as he came around to look at her. There was that expression again, sleepy heat. Firefly light played over teal skin and blue waves above.

"Your true colors are beautiful, Branch. I'm glad I get to see them."

He came to her then. Bent down, scooped up her hands, lifted her to her feet without a word. The look in his eyes was nothing like the wide, clear shine on that night. This was hooded and soft. She felt herself responding to it in kind, time slowing down in the dance of fireflies.

Branch brushed aside the pink bang that only ever answered to his touch. His fingers kept going, trailing along the side of her face. Her eyes were drifting shut. All she wanted to feel was that stroke, the fingers tracing out the curve in her cheek on their way down.

"I've thought it many times but never told you," Branch said, soft and close. The tip of his nose brushed hers slowly, back and forth, a gentle signal for what he was about to do. "You're beautiful, Poppy."

His lips were against hers, tender and loving. Delicate fingers became the full sweep of his hand supporting the kiss. She leaned into him, wanting it, needing it. He felt so good. He released her lips only to kiss her again, his plush nose pressing into her skin, the hand holding hers squeezing tighter. Passion blossomed in her chest and she shared it with soft, gentle touches.

With every kiss they grew closer. Her hands were on his shoulders, then over. Her fingers swept through cerulean silk, caressing, rubbing, holding. She could hear the pine cone combing through her hair. Zippy mint flavor inspired her to taste again and again the sweet softness of the troll so dear to her. How long? How long had they waited for this kind of connection? It felt right. It was unafraid.

The current sweeping them both away began to turn fiery, and Branch didn't resist. He wanted this too. Firm hands flowed down to her hips. He brought her close.

Poppy couldn't stop. She felt all of him now, his mouth moving against her own, the puffs of warm breath between kisses, a hot hand splayed over her lower back pressing her into an equally burning body. She lavished attention along his neck while he breathily groaned. Excitement surged.

Branch's free hand shot up and plunged through the back of her hair. She broke the kiss with an involuntary gasp, but this only made Branch strengthen his hold and capture her lips with fierce passion. The intensity rolled through her and awakened a sleeping beast.

Desire.

An arousing wet smack licked the air as they parted. Poppy considered pulling her partner down into the grass. His grip loosened and there were no more kisses. She opened her eyes.

Branch was glowing. His head was tipped down, eyes closed, mouth slightly open while he breathed. Brilliant sparkles glimmered against lavender flushed cheeks. His aquamarine color was so bright she could clearly make out the black pepper flecks that characterized his skin. The purple-teal gradient over the bridge of his nose was fascinating and she gave in to the urge to slowly rub a finger along the smooth, fine flocking. Branch closed his mouth and hummed with pleasure.

Satisfaction glowed on his face, so maybe he'd backed off because kisses were all he desired, or all he was comfortable with. Probably the latter. His affection tolerance was low. If she wanted more she'd have to warm him up to the idea over time.

Her fingers were exploring the pepper spots on his cheek when his eyes drifted open. Both her guesses were wrong. So, so wrong.

His half-lidded gaze was a carefully contained fire.

He was trying to control himself.

"Let's stay here for a bit," Branch said, stepping back. "I definitely don't need every troll in the village seeing… this." He circled a finger at his luminescent body and glanced up at shining hair.

"I could keep that going for you," she suggested.

Those two blue rings of fire trained on her were hot, hot. If she kept poking would she get burned? Somehow she doubted it. She was glowing too. Fire on fire just meant more fire.

Branch chose to ignore her tease. He went to the mulberry tree and sat in the grass, resting his back against the bark. Another new expression graced his face when he gazed at her. It was irresistibly cute: ears quirked up a tiny bit, a hopeful smile, and attentive eyes. _Stay with me?_

She joined and he pressed close to her side, his pulse thrumming against her skin with the aftershocks of what they'd just done. It was comforting to remain connected, riding the waves together. Rosy teal glow settled beneath the mulberry canopy. Rainbow fireflies floated and flickered, looking for romance of their own.

Branch's hushed voice matched the quiet atmosphere. "Do you have your gem?"

"Yep. Keep it right here in my hair." She removed the small pink jewel.

"You probably already tried planting it in the woods where the dust scattered, right?"

She had. She wasn't giving up. "If a troll can grow a second gem flower, they can grow a second heart flower. It has to be true. The feeling's there. I know it."

Branch studied the grass at his feet, a light blush playing over the tips of his ears. "It might take time, but the other thing that helped heal hearts was happiness from the owner's gem. So…"

His hand hovered over her lap, fingers cupped around the turquoise gem he strove so hard to gain.

"Maybe try planting them together?"

"Branch, you can't give me your gem!" she piped, startled.

A sly undercurrent tickled his words. "I'm not giving it to you; I'm sharing it with you."

Now she had no choice but to take it. The rectangular gem radiated heat in her palm. It was a scrapbook moment, holding both seeds of happiness in her hands like two felted trolls, except with real warmth and weight. She placed the treasures in her hair. "I'll return it by Keith's gem day."

"If it doesn't work we can try something else."

Poppy nibbled her lower lip, the words to tell him how important he was sticking huskily in her throat. Today almost didn't feel real. They lounged in their private little world and discussed which spot would be best for her picnic plan.

She made sure Branch didn't leave without a souvenir. Chenille had been more than happy to lend the Poppy-pink lipstick. Poppy snuck it on as they left the mulberry shade and gave Branch a big smooch on the cheek.

When she was on her own again she made a stop at the ice cream stand. "One scoop of revenge, please."

Mmm. Yep. Sweet as always.


	26. Hurricane Heart

It didn't work.

Branch swiped away sweat beading on his forehead, thinking of his gem back in its lockbox for safekeeping. A bundle of sturdy tree limbs scraped against the worn fabric of his stained tank top. If he had to replace one shovel handle he may as well make extras.

When he held Poppy close he couldn't feel her pulse. Three weeks of kisses and trysts and competing to sneak trinkets of affection on each other had not changed that. They'd gone so far as to ask Peppy and some of the older trolls for heartbreak stories, even make a nervous visit to Dr. Moonbloom. The rhythm of love still slept.

Liquid trickled into an eyebrow and he wiped again. Late afternoon sun shone through the tree canopy above the bunker. The atmosphere was heavy. Thick humidity clung to his skin and unusual heat permeated the air.

After he dropped the bundle Branch scaled one of the taller trees for a look at the storm's direction. Perfectly clear blue skies and a wet breeze greeted him. The weird weather made his flocking stand on end.

On instinct he went inside and hurriedly moved traps and dangerous tools into a room he could seal off. The timing couldn't be worse. A disorganized mess greeted him on the bottom floor. He shoved piles of goods up against the walls. It didn't matter where things went since he was in the middle of rearranging his entire life anyway.

He tried not to lose track of time while he prepped best he could. Unease crawled over his skin.

A huge thunder crack rumbled the walls, making him freeze. Wait, no, that was a knock. Really?

He flipped the hatch open. A blanket of oppressive moisture smothered down.

"Sorry," Biggie said, wind ruffling his hair, Mr. Dinkles cradled in his arms. "I didn't think you could hear me. I did try knocking politely."

Branch looked out at the queue of trolls happily lined up as if waiting to get on a caterbus for one of Tug's tours. He had planned to run to the village and beg Poppy to move everyone as a precaution. Here they were.

Dazed, he went into autopilot and supervised trolls hopping down the elevator shaft. Wind flapped at his patchy old work clothes. Not once had King Peppy evacuated the village, much less for a storm. Queen Poppy would never be this cautious. Yet here Branch was, opening up the alternate entrance with the fireman's pole so a pack of giggling trollings could slide down.

A pattering rush over leaves hissed its way toward the bunker. Branch fanned his hair out as an umbrella. Cold drops stung his skin, one at a time, in random places. The wind picked up and he could see a wall of rain coming down the trail. A couple of blurred shapes inside stomped through soaked grass with leaves above their heads. Cooper and Smidge herded stragglers.

Chilly rain coupled with uncomfortable hot, sticky atmosphere smashed into Branch. He hurried the last trolls underground and gratefully yanked the trapdoor shut behind him. Dripping all over the landing, he reached for the box of old towels. Water drizzled in a steady stream off Cooper's drowned fur. Smidge slapped several towels over the fuzzball before he got it in his head to shake.

"Poppy should be here soon," Cooper said, lifting up his hat and sending a cascade of water over the floor. "I think we got everyone though."

"What's going on out there?" Branch asked. Poppy must've known something about the storm he didn't. That was the only explanation for this.

Smidge shrugged. "She had a bad feeling and said, 'Better safe than sorry!'"

" _Poppy_ said that."

"Weird, right?" Cooper laughed.

Concerned now for multiple reasons, Branch checked the surveillance periscopes. Poor visibility due to the rain haze made them useless. Cracking open the trapdoor wouldn't be much better. "What's keeping her?"

"Double checking a couple pods," Smidge said. "She had everyone reel them in so the wind wouldn't catch."

A noisy gust crashed over the boulder aboveground, whistling around the edges. Hard drum of water over rock announced sleet rain. It was dangerous to go outside and if Poppy and Branch missed each other, he'd be the fool wandering the woods. He forced himself to be patient. Fifteen more minutes.

The elevator clicked into motion. Two ladies came up on the platform, huddled close together. One of them reached for the latch holding the hatch closed. Smidge beat Branch to the punch. "Gah, are you two nuts? That's not party weather out there."

The purple hand on the latch trembled, fearful but determined. "We have to go back. One of us has to."

Distraught, the second troll picked at her wispy orange bangs. "We weren't at home when Poppy started the cowbell. She said she'd check our pod for us."

"In this weather I'm afraid she's still there."

"Our pod… the wind is so strong…" The mention of this, plus the torrential noise above, stressed the two trolls to the point their colors began to fade. Together they unhooked the trapdoor.

Branch said, "I'll go get her. Stay here."

"But—"

"Stay. Here," he commanded. The village was a thirty minute walk. These two trolls were not prepared to deal with the gale howling outside. Typically everyone would be holed up in their pods right now, playing party games and eating snacks.

The couple wanted to argue with him, but a deafening thunder crack pressed them close together. The orange haired troll crumbled, mashing her face to her partner's chest. They embraced, defeated, trying to console each other. Why were they so upset?

He'd better hurry. Maybe they'd asked Poppy to do something ridiculous. Leave it to his queen to take unexpected precautions and attempt something crazy in the same breath. He couldn't help but feel irritated about it. She'd said she would be more considerate before rushing into danger, and he hadn't really expected her to keep that promise, but he didn't expect her to break it, either.

Didn't matter. He still loved her.

Branch tugged at the heavy weighted boots. "Doubt we'll be back tonight," he told Smidge. "Finding shelter nearby beats struggling all the way to the bunker."

He flipped his hair under the rain jacket's hood and pulled the strings taught, tying them. A familiar hard exterior flattened against his skull. Gary's tricks were inoperable in dangerous weather, but Branch didn't dare leave him behind with the other trolls. From beneath the hood Gary complained that he should've been built as a toy so he could stay. Creating joy was as important as protecting it.

After years of hearing that Branch was starting to believe it. What good were defenses without anything to defend?

He exited the bunker with a purpose.

Sideways rain spat all over his face as soon as he stepped out. Wind ripped at every fold in his clothes, pressing the waterproof fabric flat over his body. Hefty boots kept him stable but each step took extra effort. This was going to be a long walk.

Fallen logs obscured the pathway. The storm shook every dead twig out of the trees and plenty of living ones too. Several times Branch took detours and all the while water and wind roared at him. Wiping at the cold liquid running off his nose was pointless. He let it run. Through scrunched eyes he slogged to the village.

Pods tucked high into the troll tree swayed like colorful punching bags. Their support vines were fully retracted. Though the homes were spared the full length swing, people would still be picking up their belongings off the floor once the storm let up.

He remained on the ground, trying to scout out the specific pod. He must've misheard the directions because no homes hung in the area. Din from the storm drowned out his hearing and darkening skies filled him with dread. A large leaf smacked into his side. He batted it away. Pieces of the wild ripped up and scattered, dangerous projectiles too unpredictable to avoid. He couldn't stay outside much longer. Where was that pod? He squinted at the troll tree. Cracked wood splintered where a bough was supposed to be. Freshly torn shards spiked at the break.

The whole thing had snapped off, houses and all. Including Poppy.

Hot panic flooded his guts. His chest was on fire and he sweat in the waterproof clothes. The fallen tree limb came into view as he thudded over the lawn. Tangles of leaves and crushed mushrooms and twisted wood stretched the violent display. One pod in the row was speared on a sapling, the others hidden by destruction.

He roared at the top of choked lungs into the gale. "POPPY!"

"Over here!"

He could barely hear her over the noise, but it was enough to know where in the wreckage to look. Branch navigated through the twisted structure that rolled over the ground like a gnarled root.

Poppy was caged inside, sitting soaked on the grass, her hair completely used up to hold a section of the tree in place. So much hair. Hot pink fibers vaulted above her in a sheet, tendrils wrapping around the fallen timber. She was an anchor at a balancing point. If she moved the whole thing would come down on top of her. There was no way she could hold that weight alone.

His hair shot out and wrapped around her waist.

"BRANCH, NO!" she screamed. Every muscle in his body locked up at the sheer panic in her tone. As if she'd die if he pulled her out.

"Hurry, inside, I can't reach," she said, thrusting an arm at the purple-pink pod sitting on top of a crook further up.

What could possibly, _possibly_ be inside that was worth this? Nothing. He needed to pull her out. Now.

"Poppy, I won't—"

She snapped her head down and scrunched her eyes shut, anguish creasing her face like he'd betrayed her. Pink fingers clutched at the fabric above her silent heart. The untested royal crown sat heavy upon her brow, shocking him with its presence. Further argument would cost him something. He didn't know what. Poppy – his lover – The Queen – expected him to trust she could hold the timber long enough for him to get in and out of that pod before it fell. She wouldn't spare time to explain why. He wasn't worth fifteen seconds.

Time ticked. Letting go meant leaving her in extreme peril. Waterlogged periwinkle felt twisted, twisted around her heart. Wind flapped the crown's large central flower petals. His instinct or her command. Choose.

Furious and terrified, Branch unwound his hold on her. His mind went completely blank. He dashed under the cracked tree limb and hot pink ceiling, up the crooked wood, and scrambled to where the pod was lodged – and slipping – between a fork in the limb, its support vine severed. A single snaked tendril of Poppy's hair had managed to get this far and was desperately, pathetically, trying to keep the pod from falling.

Unthinking unfeeling adrenaline pushed him forward. He teetered over the brink of the fork, wet wood scraping at his bare hands, and tore the pod's window open to peer down into it. The floor slanted at an extreme angle. Furniture slid toward the back wall where cubbies on his window side had already dumped all their contents: scrapbooks, games, jewelry. With each passing second the weight moved closer to the end. A dining chair tipped over and slammed into gathering clutter. The pod shifted.

Branch ripped his hood off and rubbed rainwater out of his eyes, fanning his hair to keep his vision from clogging. He scanned the interior of the pod. Hard wind blasted in his ears.

"Heart stone!" Poppy was shouting repeatedly in the background.

He couldn't see any treasure boxes to hold one from here. A fall wouldn't crack a heart, though, so why?...

The pod slipped again. Puffy sitting cushions raced to the growing clutter at the bottom. One of them pulled at a silk sheet draped over a table trapped on the far wall. Within the silk a glint of purple light caught his attention. There it was. The heart-shaped jewel was slowly sliding across the silk. On top of the gem's flat face, a large lotus flower blossomed. Its center petals wrapped over an egg-sized bud: very late stages of a very new troll life.

Branch was in the zone. He couldn't go inside the pod without tipping it. He had a few minutes to extract the jewel. There was no way to do so without injuring the fragile petals sprouting from the heart. But if he did nothing, the unborn baby would be crushed under the debris.

He swished his hair through the open window and split the tips into four prongs, working at the silk to untangle it from all the other items. A sudden lurch of the wood beneath him sent the flowered jewel skidding to the table edge. Branch jerked the sheet up to catch it. Fabric pushed hard into white petals and one of them tore off, falling away. He saw the damage and felt nothing. He wasn't thinking about how his actions might kill the developing life that wasn't supposed to be moved at all. It was either this or a guaranteed end.

Now holding one edge of the silk up to keep the jewel in place, Branch tugged carefully at the last corner trapped under a dresser. It was then that the bed near him began to move. The heavy frame inched away, headed straight for the area he was trying to protect. The whole pod was moving now. Walls deformed where they pushed past the fork holding them in place. He was out of time.

With all his might Branch wrenched the silk corner free, jiggling the stressed blossom. It shed more petals. Quickly he maneuvered all four hair tips together to form a bundle around the heart. Unable to see what was happening to it, he retracted his hair and grasped the silk bundle's neck with a free hand, trying to feel down far enough to make it secure but no so far the petals squished in his grasp. He didn't have time to feel sick about what he was doing. Not yet.

With as much care as the situation allowed Branch hurried back so he could pull Poppy out. It wasn't necessary. Once he crossed the threshold to safety, she stood and bounded away, releasing her hair behind her. Squealing twists pierced the air while the old tree path collapsed.

Poppy came to his side and sheltered them in as thick a hair shell as she could make, but it wasn't enough. He added his own to the inner barrier. It still wasn't enough. Furious wind and rain penetrated the fibers. They huddled together, trying to shield the bundle Branch held out, afraid to set it down, or bump into it, or disturb its upright position. It was so dark they could barely see each other in the dim blue glow he fed into his hair. Damp cold sank into his exposed ears and fingertips. His endurance for insanity was coming to an end. Adrenaline sputtered and died. His hands trembled. How long would they be stuck here? How long could they hold out? What if something fell on them? Blew into them and pierced through their shield?

"I don't think we should stay here," Poppy announced loud enough to be heard over the tempest.

"Black Rock. How far?" Branch said.

"Doesn't matter. Who's carrying the heart?"

"Don't think I can let go."

"Okay."

Poppy exited the hair bubble, leaving one strand of her own behind to guide him. She led the way and maintained the outer defenses at the same time. Darkness prevailed. They trudged through unending torment. The slashing sword rain was cold. The hot weather was sweaty. Blinding lightning split the sky and deafening thunder roared.

By the time they made it inside the rocky cavern he was mechanically marching. It was over. He could stop. The outstretched arm supporting the bundled jewel screamed with strain. A raw path from his incessant running nose burned the top of his lip. His eyes watered. Poppy and everything in the tunnel sounded dull and far away, the equivalent to spending too long at one of Suki's raves.

They descended stairs into the underground game changer's club to put one more layer of security between them and the weather. The spacious cavern was not as good as his bunker, but it was a decent, more accessible option closer to the village. Dim lamps at each of the game tables spotted abandoned darkness with islands of light.

Unaware of anything but what was in his hand, Branch stood at one of the booths along the black rocky wall. The booth seating formed a semicircle around a round table. He stared at the flat, smooth surface lit by an overhead acorn lamp. Finally he convinced his shaking arm to lower the irreplaceable bundle onto the table. He carefully unfolded the silk corners without touching the flower.

It was upside down.

He'd ruined it.

He'd.

The blossom, squished flat beneath the heavy heart gem.

No.

Expectant parents, waiting in the bunker. Not parents anymore. He'd have to tell them. He couldn't do it.

"Branch!" Poppy snapped, worried. He noticed she was standing so close her soaked arm pressed to his sleek rain sleeve. She'd been beside him all along. Each time she shivered the slight vibration echoed through him.

Feminine fingers curled around the purple heart and lifted it, turned it over, set it back down. The blossom on top fluffed up. Long, delicate white petals separated from the flower's body and fell onto the silk, some of them sliding to the floor. Teardrops for what could have been.

Failed. He'd failed. A million ways today could have gone differently filtered through his conscience. A few seconds sooner. If he'd climbed to the pod right away he would have had enough time. If he'd been in the village. If he'd built his bunker even two minutes closer. If he'd...

Poppy's voice quavered. "It's okay. Look."

He expected to see life oozing out of the center bud, but it was clean. Whorled petals held the soft egg shape inside.

Branch was on the floor, sitting with his head tucked into his knees and his hands in his hair. A single feeble whine snuck past his defenses. It looked like the egg might be okay. After what he'd done the trolling might survive with a permanent scar. He groaned. It was too much, today, this, everything, the sweat sticking clothes to his skin, fevered chills racing up and down his spine, bedraggled hair draped everywhere, panic at the broken tree, a tiny life in his hands.

His back hit the ground, his arms spread to the sides, and he made noise. "aaaaaAAAAAAAAAAAAA!" He dug the heels of his hands into tightly closed eyes as his brain spiraled, overwhelmed. Boots scraped the floor because he needed to move his bent legs, a repeated slow motion furl and unfurl that dragged on stone. Anguished sounds tumbled from his throat. Beside him Poppy fared no better. She collapsed on folded knees, buried her face in her hands, and broke down into a fit of distressed sobbing laughter.

How long had she been waiting in the storm? Vivid imagery of her calculated sitting position beneath the timber flashed through his mind: prepared to wait as long as it took in a spot she could escape if no help arrived. She evacuated the village before, rather than after, the danger appeared. He'd never, ever seen her act this way. The crown on her forehead spoke volumes. She hadn't been comfortable wearing it before.

He banged his head into the stone and howled again. Recollection of how her hand twisted over her heart seared. The choice he almost made to yank her out would have cost him everything. Their relationship. The child. On the other hand, Poppy could have been crushed. His head rocked back and forth on the ground. So soon after the last scare. Would they ever know peace?

A beloved face hovered above him. Poppy knelt at his side. "Can I do anything to make you feel better?" she asked, hiccuping a wet laugh and rubbing away a few tears of hysteria. They were both exhausted at the end of sanity, _she_ was the one who needed to be tended to, and here she was caring for him. She'd protected him the whole way here. Poppy had protected _him_.

"Some space for a little while," he whispered.

She left. He cried for a solid five minutes before his energy ran out.

Drained of all emotion, he lay on the floor spread eagle and stared at the black ceiling. Low yellow lamp light barely reached the starless surface. He closed his eyes. Either his life would come back or he'd fall asleep.

Clumsy picking at his boot startled him to consciousness. Poppy undid the boot's top buckle and strap. Then she pulled at the laces. Undressing him was surreal enough, but she also happened to be doing so in a different outfit. Damp hair cascaded over a purple velveteen tuxedo vest and a pair of black slacks.

"Don't laugh, but there is an emergency costume party box here."

He wasn't laughing. Silver buttons held the barbershop quartet vest closed but there was nothing underneath. The pinstripe long sleeve shirt that should go with it draped over a stool. Cool air settled over his bare toes. When had his boots come off?

Aware he was a tired wreck, Branch sat up and pulled his feet away before Poppy got any further. He shucked off his rain outfit and hung it over nearby seating. An unflattering ragged tanktop and shorts remained, salty dried sweat crusted his skin, he smelled, and his dull attitude was the cherry on top. He didn't feel like a troll anybody should be around. Especially not Poppy.

She didn't abandon him to his sorry state – quite the opposite. Each phrase she uttered made yearning for physical contact pool in his crushed soul.

"I got some water and a fizzy stoutberry from the bar for you," she said. "If you want to change I tried to pick what you'd be okay with. And I found these. For playing picnic checkers, but I think they work pretty well as blankets. See? I made beds for us."

Poppy draped one of the sheets over her shoulders. The other spread out over booth seats, with a sitting cushion as a pillow. A second pillow occupied the opposite seats. Branch discovered he had a single huff and a few words left in him. "When did you become a survivor?"

"Party 101. Never leave home without some fun." She kissed his nose before tiredly shuffling to the booth with the flowering heart and sliding far in. She pulled her feet up, folded her knees to her chest, and rested her chin on them. The picnic sheet bundled around her. Eyelids drooped while she watched over the blossom growing from the love beneath it.

Defeated as he was, his gaze drifted to the neighboring booth and its makeshift cot. Maybe on any other day that is where he would go. Tonight, his walls were beaten down, his spirit battered and flat. There was only one place he wanted to be.

In silence Branch crawled onto a stool at the table next to him. Costume pieces and drinks were arranged neatly on top. The sweet fizzy juice felt good on his throat. He picked up the pinstripe shirt and pawed around the rest, settling on long suede pants with fringes up and down the sides. Then he trekked to the bathroom at the far end of the club, stripped off his tank top, soaked it, and used it to give himself a sponge bath. Tepid water slicked away grime, refreshing his fuzz. While he dried he squeezed his hair out and groggily combed fingers through tangled strands. Better. Not ideal, not by a long shot, but better. He donned the fresh outfit.

Cold on the outside and empty inside, Branch trudged back to indoor camp. As much as he wished to kiss and touch and love, none of those activities came to mind. What he wanted right now – no, what he needed – was to be close. That's all.

The queen's crown sat on the table next to the mock bed. Branch put Gary beside it. Then he went to the following booth.

Wordlessly he scooched in. He sank into the cushy deluxe fabric and kept moving. Maybe she'd push him away. Quiet rose eyes watched him approach, but he was too tired to tell if that was a good or bad sign. Before he could touch her she moved. A slim arm unfurled the blanket and invited him in. She helped him get as close as possible, squished against her side. It wasn't enough. He buried his face in the tuxedo vest and wrapped his arms around her waist. This was good. Uncomfortable on his twisted upper body, but it made him feel safe.

Poppy laughed softly. "Branch… here, lie down."

Pink hair brought a cushion onto her lap so he could rest his head there. Then she covered him with the other picnic sheet. She welcomed him completely. His heart ached and he curled into a stiff ball at her side. The table's edge divided his field of vision, shadows below and lotus bud above. Its heart glittered in two-toned purple pink radiance. Curling colors and stars inside swirled together, the mark of two troll hearts joined for a long time.

Poppy's hand smoothed the pinstripes along his back. "I didn't know Layla and Amethyst were expecting until they told me during evacuation. If you hadn't come when you did… thank you."

He grunted, disappointed in his performance today and grumpy he wasn't the one with the energy to take care of her and rub her back.

The fingers stroking him arched and pressed hard and fast, scratching spots he couldn't reach. His exposed ear shot up and he huffed as intense rivulets of satisfaction scritched all over his spine. The sensation spread up his nape and tingled behind his ears. It was almost frustrating how good it felt. Poppy scratched harder. Blissful buzz enveloped him. He growled. She was grinning; he knew it even though he couldn't see.

The teal hand not trapped under his curled body sought out her leg beneath the cushion, some part of her to hold on to. Smooth slacks sailed under his palm. Branch gripped lightly and grrr'ed into the lap pillow while she etched between his shoulder blades.

She slid her rough touch into the back of his hair and massaged deep into his skin. Pleasure flooded his brain. Branch went limp. Poppy threaded fingers through his hair, stroked and petted.

"...feels good," he breathed.

Life was the most important person in the world brushing his hair with bare hands. Weariness dragged his eyelids down and his thoughts dropped away. Pleasant strokes rippled along his head.

"I used to dream this would happen," Poppy said, drowsy.

"Hrm."

"That one day you'd finally give in. You'd be all gray and grumbly, but you'd storm up, and give the biggest bear hug ever."

"Like this better," he mumbled.

"Me too."

She kept giving him attention until his heart was fit to burst. He wanted to look at her, but his body weighed him down. Soft cushions sucked him in. He snuggled to the warm troll close by. This was important. Important words, or maybe a song, but he was so heavy, the words were thick, and affection flowed through his hair with a sleepy lull.

Tomorrow they'd be back to banter and kisses, but this night… what he wouldn't give for more nights like this.

~ ~ ~

He'd fallen asleep.

Stiff muscles protested when he tried to unravel himself. He shouldn't have dozed off curled in a ball like that. Poppy was half on top of him, wedged in between his back and the seatback, sleeping on her side as if he were a mattress. Her legs were no longer under the cushion. Instead they folded somewhere above his head. None of this was comfortable. His movements popped his hip and he groaned. Poppy stirred and grumbled his name while he tried to escape. What time was it?

Four o'clock.

Wind howled dimly through layers of black rock above, pierced by a boom of thunder. For all he knew the typhoon could go on for hours.

Wobbly pink arms supported a barely awake Poppy granting him enough space to slide out from the cage of limbs. She mumbled and lowered herself down, picking at the bang strung taught over her face since it was trapped under her chin. Branch pulled it free. Even her hair had that rebellious streak.

He rubbed his eyes and observed the pile of troll, velvet, and cotton. "You'll be sore if you sleep like that."

"Mmmnh."

"Come on." He coaxed the cushion under her head and then dragged it forward. She followed, her body stretching out in the extra space left behind. A happy murmur was his reward.

He looked hopelessly at how narrow the booth seat was. Unless he was planning to spoon Poppy there was no way he'd be able to be near. Were sleep snuggles too much physical contact? Why did he want to touch her so much when he wasn't a touchy-feely troll with anyone else? That was a dumb question he already knew the answer to. Lethargic fog in his brain obscured rational thought.

After a bathroom break Branch recovered his blanket and lay down on the opposite seats, careful not to bump the table and disturb the fragile flower. Behind closed eyes all he could see was the image of Poppy cocooned in the sheet, guarding the shimmering heart crested in white petals. It gave him a lot to think about.

By midmorning the storm blew over. Side by side they stood before the table and the injured bloom. There was no denying it. Well, Poppy might deny it – or at least gloss it over with hope for a miracle.

But she didn't.

"They'll be born different," she said.

When the trolling hatched, would he be haunted by his failures? Or be reminded that he and Poppy worked together to save a life?

Poppy stayed behind to wait for the parents. She knew he wouldn't be able to leave the flower without a guardian after all it had been through.

It was muggy outdoors. Condensation from the sticky, hot air trickled down Gary into the curve of Branch's fingers. It was just the two of them again, like always. Only not really. Things were changing.

Branch spoke once he put a fair distance between himself and Black Rock.

"Gary… you wouldn't be jealous, would you? If I started a real family." He pushed aside a torn leaf, picking his way along the trail. "Not that you're not real, it's just… you know..." Branch paused, hesitated, squeezed out the difficult words in a pinched voice. "...you're not."

Gary already knew that. And why would he be jealous?

"It feels like I'm leaving you behind."

Everybody went their separate ways eventually. That was part of life. Besides, hadn't Gary been the one encouraging Branch since the very beginning? He wasn't going to stop now. He'd stay for a little while longer, even though he didn't think Branch needed him anymore.

This goodbye was a long time coming. That didn't make it any easier.

Branch clung to the remote and pretended the firm hold was enough to keep Gary from slipping from his mind, too.


	27. Evidence War

Down below, the marketplace thrived with activity. Trolls held leafy poles in place while a crane critter lowered roof decking back onto the coffee shop. Another group led by Smidge cleaned up scattered mushroom chunks. The small troll was having a hard time moving away from a nearby gathering of fuzzlings and crane critters, since Milton was there checking on one of the critters' stretchy necks. Harper's color-splashed hair bobbed as she added a swoop on the curling letters of a new sign for the Bead Boutique and Satin and Chenille unfolded a fresh bellflower canopy over Tug Duluth's tourist booth.

From an unobserved tree limb Poppy watched a teal troll standing in the thick of it all. Branch put a hand to his chin while he conferred with the construction foreman. Around them workers' bright hard hats covered plumes of hair, an oddity that made the group easy to spot, like hard shelled beetles amassing on the forest floor. Branch gave a curt nod and helped the foreman divide workers into groups. Each surrounded a new pod waiting to be hoisted in place of those lost during the storm.

One of the groups began to struggle with their pod's support vine and Branch dashed in to lend a hair right where it was needed.

Poppy leaned back, still watching. She'd been watching Branch ever since she'd met him, first out of curiosity and concern, now out of… a lot more than that.

When the pod was in place one of Branch's crewmates offered a high five. He hesitated. Then yellow and teal palms came together with a light clap – or so she imagined, since the noise was lost underneath all the commotion of rebuilding.

Her attention drifted to the market, half on the lookout for any low spirits or pockets of demotivation. "Biggie, do you think Branch would make a good leader?"

"But isn't he already… Oh! Ohh." Biggie tapped at his cheek and looked to the treetop. "When you put it that way, I was a bit surprised you sent Creek instead of Branch to care for Trollberg."

"You know he'd never leave his bunker behind."

"Yes, well, that," Biggie said before Mr. Dinkles interrupted with a meep. "And you."

Poppy let out a defeated chuckle. "There's something on me, isn't there?"

Biggie peeled the note off the back of her dress that explained why her morning had been especially wonderful. _Hug Me_ scrawled in bold letters next to a colored doodle of a certain troll with his tongue sticking out, winking. She cast a fond look down at said troll, who was still oblivious to his secret admirer.

"Is Creek doing okay with that responsibility, by the way?" Biggie asked.

"You sound worried."

"It's just that I didn't expect him to end up so close to the bergens, um, as a leader."

"He volunteered, Biggie," she stressed. "He didn't have to do that. He could've stayed quiet and let my plan fall apart, but he didn't. And it's not like I put him in charge, he just… seems to be taking initiative the way he used to."

"Alright then. Do try to visit them soon, though. I know you've been a bit distracted but I'm sure Bridget and Gristle wouldn't mind an extra dose of smiles."

Biggie was right. Poppy had been delaying her plans for a visit. It wasn't anything to worry about; it would happen. As soon as Branch said he was going to be busy all day she'd use that time to take her royal flyer bug out.

But not today. Poppy bounced off to one of the swirly slides. She unfolded a strip of temporary tattoos. It would be a challenge. She started crafting a way to pull it off without getting caught.

Forty minutes later inside the leafy hiding spot Poppy checked her arms and legs for any hints. She craned her neck to see what she could of her back. All clear. Branch finished inspecting himself. They looked at each other with silly grins. How funny, to be so trusting and yet so untrusting at the same time. Branch collected one last kiss. Then he turned and sauntered out of the bushes. Two bright rainbows tattooed the backs of his ears.

Poppy nipped her bottom lip to suppress a laugh.

~ ~ ~

After a few days someone finally said something. Branch turned to leave, and Tug's voice followed. "Oh! I like the rainbows."

"What—" he looked over his shoulder.

Tug had her hands over her mouth to hold in a giggle. "I realize you aren't supposed to know," she said, "but there are two of them in a very obvious location."

Great. He whirled around, performing a frantic visual search, unable to hold back a blush at the thought they'd be someplace embarrassing. Hesitantly he reached around back. Surely she wouldn't have, not there, she hadn't even touched—his hands swung up with realization and clapped over his ears.

"Yup!" Tug beamed, as if he'd won a prize.

Clever. Very clever, Poppy.

He wandered off, calculating what move to make next. Behind him Tug called out, "It's not a competition, Branch!"

~ ~ ~

Branch peeked an eye open to make sure he'd securely tied the pine cone ornament to Poppy's hair. One more loop and done. He went back to kissing her. By now everyone knew that pine cone was his. How long until she realized it was there?

Last week he'd managed to get a finger paint handprint on the back of her dress. He discovered heart stickers on his vest. He still wasn't sure how she'd pulled that one off. Seven on the back and one on the inside fold.

The evidence war did not go unnoticed. Later that afternoon an annoying visitor fogged up his outdoor work site.

"Say Branch, you're good with the ladies," Cloud Guy said. "But how much experience would you say you have?"

"Experience."

"You know, hokey pokey, tango for two, the horizontal bop."

Branch turned off the table saw, lest he saw something other than the stack of lumber. "Is there any way for me to not have this conversation?"

"If you're too embarrassed I'm sure Poppy wouldn't mind sharing her tips with me."

Not going to happen. "Okay, you want a tip? Here's one. Water vapor can't feel pain. But you know," he said, flipping the saw back on, "first time for everything."

The rest of the day was cloud-free.

~ ~ ~

Poppy was addicted to Branch. Knowing they were going through a phase didn't quell the obsession. It was like being a kid in the party factory for the first time, seeing a candy firework in action and racing around to catch sparkly treats.

She was the queen. She was supposed to be somewhat responsible. But… candy fireworks!

Instead of visiting Trollberg to check on everyone, the leaf curtain draped over her doorway. She'd stopped noticing the pillows, and the floor's fuzzy fibers tickling the gap between her tie-dye shirt and shorts, a long time ago. What had they been doing? Reading? It didn't matter. Branch was stretched out alongside her, his upper body brushing hers while they delighted each other with the most delicious kisses and cuddles.

During a pause in the action a sneaky idea popped into her mind, a piece of evidence she hadn't considered in years. Poppy bit her lip with a flirty smile.

"Give me a love bite!"

Branch jerked back and scrunched up his face. "Really? What are we, sixteen?"

Poppy puffed and rolled her eyes. All she wanted was to see what it was like again.

When Branch realized she was not joking his ears flattened against his head like a displeased feline. The soft glow encompassing him faded. Clearly he was not into this. "I'm not giving you a love bite. It's literally a bruise."

"Yeah but – just put it somewhere no one will see."

"I don't want to."

She squirmed underneath him, vying for his attention. "Pleeease?"

"No." A serious edge hardened the word.

His rejection stung.

The mood went stale. She deflated, fun ruined, appetite smothered. Above her, Branch's eyebrows pinched together in concern. He wanted to please her but he wasn't going to cater to her every whim, not if it meant activities he didn't agree with.

She feigned cheerfulness and tried to pass it off as no big deal. "Maybe we should stop." The hurt in her voice made her wince. Poppy shifted to get out from underneath Branch, but he didn't move his arms.

"Sorry," he mumbled. "If it matters to you that much I guess I'll do it."

"No, it's okay." She'd ruined it. If it wasn't enjoyable for him she had no intention of asking again. Forcing him into a corner made her miserable.

"Poppy," he huffed, upset.

They were both disappointed. This sucked. They stared at each other for a few moments, unsure what to do. Branch moved so she could sit up.

"Sorry for being pushy," she said. "I get excited sometimes and do that. I didn't mean to hurt you. I kinda thought it'd be a fun thing to try, that's all. Do you, um, not like trying new stuff?"

Branch's eyes went wide with a start. "No no no, that's not it at all! It's..." He rubbed a line between his brows. "I don't like that particular thing. And it's frustrating when you keep insisting. Sorry if I snapped back there."

With mistakes and hurt feelings out in the open the tension between them eased. Branch looked thoughtful. A shy finger brushed the back of her hand. When she didn't pull away it became a warm palm encompassing hers. "Do you, ah…" Branch looked away. "Do _you_ like hickeys? Because I will, if..."

Poppy choked on a snort. "No! I mean, I haven't had one in so long I don't even remember if it hurt or not."

Branch winced.

"What?" she asked.

"That. Hurting you. I can't stand seeing you in any kind of pain."

The sweet admission hit a soft spot. Branch had never been able to tolerate when she was hurting. A rush of compassion for her tenderhearted suitor thudded in her chest, once. Surprise must've registered on her face because Branch looked stupefied.

"Poppy, you can't honestly be surprised by that! When have I ever—"

"I felt something."

His mouth clapped shut and he noted where she'd positioned her hand. She had felt it. She wasn't crazy. Branch's eyes were still round when he puffed a half-laugh. Disbelief, wonder, and dry humor mixed in a weird harmony. "You felt something over an argument about hickeys."

She grinned. "It's not an argument."

"Well, it _was_." A fuzzy blue eyebrow quirked up, part amused and part confused. "What am I doing right here? Should we fight more?"

She caressed a finger along his jawline. "If it means you spend more time with me."

The lure worked. Poppy wound up where she was before, reclined on floor pillows with Branch at her side, partly over her. A mischievous glint sparked in his crystal blue gaze. "If you want my attention that much I know of a few other things we could try."

Puckered lips pressed a slow kiss at her collar bone. Sky irises flicked up to catch the silly smile taking over her face. He kissed a bit lower. Fingers teased the bottom hem of her shirt upward. The tantalizing new exploration triggered heat, but her muscles tensed at the gleam in his eye. What was he—

Fabric flipped up and Branch slammed a raspberry onto her stomach. Tickling vibrations erupted across her exposed belly. She squeaked with uncontrollable laughter, thrashing, afraid she'd kick him on accident. "Ahahah, Branch! No!" she gasped through giggles.

He tugged her shirt down and loomed over her with a feisty grin. "Okay," he said. "How about a love bite?"

"N—"

Branch rapidly nibbled along her shoulders and neck with ridiculous noises that tickled. He scattered kisses everywhere, some of them purposefully sloppy and wet. Poppy writhed; she couldn't stop laughing. The cold, damp spots left sitting on bare skin were awful. Branch buried his face in the crook of her neck and nipped before plastering his tongue down and sliding the hot, wet surface upward like a cuddlepup. It was gross. Caught in the silly play she squealed and tried to roll away but he had her wrists lightly pinned. The slick purple slug kept moving upward. "Stop! Stop!" she heaved, breathless.

Her treacherous lover sat up with the most victorious grin she'd ever seen. The soggy trail on the side of her neck chilled in the open air. He rubbed a hand over the mess to dry it off while she glared at him with a vengeance. This man had earned a tickle attack when he least expected it.

Poppy massaged the damp spot, trying and failing to hide a smile. "So much for that romantic moment. You couldn't take it seriously?"

"Me. Serious. Hm, I'll think about it."

Branch stood up and stretched before moving to the other end of the room. He lifted the curtain off the doorway, rolled it up, then stashed it in the closet. She sagged further into the pillows. He never stayed.

A few years ago she'd tried every trick in the scrapbook to get him to move into a pod. Despite progress in other areas back then, he never budged on the bunker. It got to the point where even mentioning a pod would trigger an argument.

She picked at an aquamarine fiber in the floor and wondered if they'd survive a squabble over it today.

"Poppy? Is something wrong? I know you want me to stay…"

She offered a weak smile. "I _do_ want you to stay."

"We'd never get anything done. You know that."

She sighed. It was hopeless.

She was left alone with a kiss on the cheek as consolation.

~ ~ ~

Poppy hummed, picking up a white sitting puff between the table and blackboard in the community pod. A beam of sunlight stretching through a window warmed the fluffy cushion. She placed the puff at the fore of the wide open gathering space. Then she turned to the scrapbooks stored in wall cubbies. The kids would begin arriving soon. What kind of story was she in the mood for?

A cleared throat from behind interrupted her selection. She looked to see Branch peeping around the doorway. When he had her attention he stepped into full view, hair shining with the luster of a fresh wash. A rainbow crazy daisy twirled between his fingers.

"Tug said I should make a peace offering," he said, tucking the daisy in the gap between her ear and the crown. "Before this escalates into a full blown pillow war like last time."

"Or like prank day?"

Branch stared at her for a moment. Then his eyes narrowed. "We'll cross that bridge when we get to it."

Heh heh.

Poppy was going to ask what brought him around early since their date wasn't until tonight, but she got that answer when Branch turned to pod entrance. Even in the sunlight Poppy could spot Amethyst's purple glow and Layla's pink. Sparkles flecked their hair.

"They asked if I knew where you were," he said. Fingers that had somehow twined with hers unraveled. Branch stood quietly beside her.

The parents were radiant. Poppy squeaked with excitement, causing Amethyst to laugh. "We thought you might want to see," Amethyst said.

Layla reached into her orange hair and removed the egg. Poppy fawned over it. Trollings showing up for story time gathered around with curiosity; they were young enough many had never seen an egg before. It was rounder than most. Thin silvery streaks crackled over the shell pattern, glittering like tinsel. The odd markings were entirely new to Poppy.

"When do you think they'll hatch?" she asked, eager to see the newest member of the village.

Branch hissed under his breath, "Poppy you can't just ask that!"

"Sure I can!" she said happily, giving herself a gold star for the couple's light blush. Intimacy made the heart grow fonder. It also made eggs hatch quicker. If not for the kids in the room she'd slip in a sly remark about the reason it's called 'making love' just to watch Branch sputter.

"Probably not that long," Amethyst said with a sidelong grin at Poppy, earning a jab from Layla's elbow and an embarrassed puff out of Branch. He rammed hands under folded arms and looked away, pretending to ignore everyone.

After the parents left Poppy sensed the shift in atmosphere around him. He relaxed but wouldn't face her. Then he said quietly, "The pattern was backwards."

So he'd noticed the direction of the eggshell's design. She put a hand on his shoulder. "It'll be fine. I promise. And if they need any special accommodations, I'll make it happen."

He didn't respond, but he looked at her, his eyes searching hers for something. He did that sometimes. What was he hoping to see?

In the background kids played with building blocks they'd dumped out of a bin. Branch turned his attention to the children for a little bit before going to the bookshelves and browsing the spines. The excitement of the egg and a surprise guest poking through scrapbooks brought a wave of small hair tufts around Branch. He wound up in a sea of pleas for a story and a kid fiercely latched to each leg.

"Woah, easy there guys. Not a toy. Also you're making it kinda hard to walk."

Branch's leg cuffs loosened but didn't let go. "Read us the one about Icarus and the Seventh Skill! Pleeeaaase."

"Well, I, uh." Branch shot her a questioning look and she nodded. "Sure. But you're gonna have to let go of my legs."

Branch picked out Keith's book from the shelf and settled down on the white puff. The kids gathered around. Branch got into the story, adding the intensity of his voice to the script and animated hand gestures to the scrapbook popups. The audience drank it up.

Poppy sat back and let Branch be in charge. Once he was finished the pack of youngsters burst out of the pod, reenacting scenes from the tale. Branch shelved the book and shoveled building blocks back into the bin with his hair. He hummed while he tidied up the shared space. A good mood, not in a hurry, free of plans until this evening. He picked up the puff and placed it between the table and blackboard.

Branch peered out the window over the village, sun casting a highlight over his freshly pressed outfit. The tailored green vest and dark spruce shorts complimented his skin. His majesty was a simple one: cool, calm and confident under a ray of light.

Poppy approached the table between them. Trolls weren't like bergens. Leadership wasn't inherited. It was a choice. She needed to ask, one more time.

"Would you consider becoming king?"

Branch closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and let it out. "Do you want me to?"

"This isn't about me. What do you want?"

He turned to the window while he gathered his words. Then, he said, "If you ask me to fill the role I will, even though it's not what I want. I don't want to be responsible for coordinating all of the festivals and parties and being the fountain of positivity everyone looks to. I'd rather stick with defense. I'd rather support you. I'm happy where I am now."

Such honesty. Poppy smiled because it was cute Branch didn't realize his leadership style was his own, although, yes, there was a ton of event planning involved and he'd never been a keen party host. But what really made her smile was that he knew what made him happy. "That's good," she said. "Because the village needs a strong Head of Security and Defense."

He brightened.

"I'm glad you know what you want," she laughed.

"What I really want is you."

The bold comment startled her for a second before playfulness kicked in. "Oh?" She tensed at the sight of him slowly edging his way around the table, trying to sneak up. "Then you'll have to catch me!"

Poppy bolted before Branch could get a hold of her. Thrill screamed inside her chest. He was close and if he reached her there was no telling what would happen. Thudding steps threatened to cut her mad dash to safety short.

Thank goodness everyone was used to these hot pursuits by now. Trolls moved aside like confetti in a breeze, leaving a clear path. Poppy slung her hair over a bough to take an unexpected hard right and flew out of the tree. The trick gained just enough of a gap to race over the lawn and under a mushroom cap into the dense undergrowth of the forest.

Poppy scudded behind a thick trunk and waited. No way was Branch going to catch her in here, and he knew it. Footsteps prowled back and forth along the forest edge. He didn't bother to follow her into the woods these days. She kinda missed hearing his grumbly stomping while he searched.

She shouted around the trunk. "Nice try Branch!"

He harrumphed.

"Dinner's at six. Don't be late!"

While she waited for the steps to recede back into the village she planned a meal that would take some extra effort. It'd be worth it to see him enjoy it.

Poppy leaned against the bark and looked up at blue sky peeking through leaves. It didn't matter that Branch chose to not have an official title. Whether he knew it or not, he was already a leader. A future king in everything but name, willing to support her but not be swayed, wanting to protect their people, and, she imagined, happy to teach whoever jumped up as the next princess or prince. She smiled. Branch wouldn't stand idly by while she filled a new heir's head with cotton candy and gumdrops.

The king of her heart was like that.

~ ~ ~

On an otherwise ordinary evening, a fuzzling bumbled under the rain repellent leaf tarp over Branch's work site to deliver news that Poppy was looking for him. She wanted to put the final touches on one of her friendly schemes. He put safety guards back on the tools and cleaned himself up. Then he headed to her pod.

At the kitchen counter he diced up fruit, seeing if it was possible to slice tango melon into heart-shaped pieces. The failures ended up in his mouth. Poppy organized cut fruit into fancy stackable containers. Besides explaining what to do, she hadn't said much.

"Something on your mind?" he asked.

"I tried to grow a new heart again. Still nothing."

"Does it feel broken?"

"I feel like a totally normal troll."

He bit back a remark about normalcy. "Well," he said, scrounging around for a toothpick. "I'm sure whichever lucky troll you were thinking of sharing it with wouldn't mind if you presented a ring instead. Or a flower." He inserted the pick into a tango melon heart. "You could propose with a piece of fruit and they wouldn't care."

He set the plate of hearts on the table for packing and gave Poppy the speared one. Cupcakes, her smile was amazing.

"How are you so good at cheering me up?" Poppy asked.

"Hit my head on that bergen pot. Scrambled my brains a bit."

"I'll believe it as soon as the sender of that get-well-soon bouquet three years ago steps forward."

"You knew that was me?"

"I do now."

Frosting.

Poppy had not returned Smidge's picnic set. Branch spread the blanket under the starry sky of Black Rock's butterfly garden. After dark the garden was a whole new world illuminated by glowshrooms. Night air brought the clear, fresh scent of sweet moss flowers. Wedge crickets played their songs.

While he poured molten chocolate into the fondue fountain his one-track mind kept going back to the bedlike moss and Poppy.

A light blinked up above the clearing once, twice, three times. He flicked the mushroom centerpiece with a finger to wake up its mellow glow and then snuck over the stones, past the forest curtain to the black rock cliffs surrounding the enclave. A pink stream ending in a spiral circle platform waited to lift him up. Once he was on board Poppy reeled in her hair.

Together they peered over the cliff edge.

Milton was the first to arrive in his white critternarian coat. He blew on a silent whistle and all the wedge crickets circled around. He knelt and examined each one.

Branch didn't know what Poppy told Smidge, but the yellow troll burst into the garden bristling. She stopped dead in her tracks at the sight of Milton. The all too familiar scene of confusion unfolded until the pair of trolls below lapsed into an entranced stare, their hands linked.

"Hoo boy, they've got it bad," Poppy whispered beside him. "How good is your aim?" She passed him a peashooter.

"Which one do you want me to hit?"

"The rocks, not them!" she hissed.

He grinned at the fact he could still rile her. "I was kidding," he said, bringing the peashooter to his mouth and lining up the shot. The sharp crack against the stones behind the fondue jolted Smidge and Milton back to reality.

"Nice shot Branch."

The couple in the garden curled up close together on the blanket and explored the treats. Body language made it clear things were about to get sappy.

"We better give them some privacy," Poppy said.

Doing something nice for others together felt like one of Poppy's hugs wrapped up in a blanket around his heart. He liked anonymity; she liked surprises. It was a good combination.

Poppy was full of energy after that, bounding around out of reach on their way back. She kept looking at him, long and thoughtful. He didn't know what that meant.

"What?" he asked.

She twirled and walked backwards with her hands behind her back. "I love spending time with you," she said. "You make me happy."

The wonderful warmth filling him up crept onto his face. "I love… spending time with you too. In case it wasn't obvious."

He'd almost said it on accident. Any other troll would've probably just said it. How would she react? It would be good for her to know, but he didn't want her to feel pressured.

Poppy quit skipping around and stood in his path. He stopped. She smirked, her eyes turning hot. Branch felt her evaluate him from his toes up as she closed the distance, hips swaying. Her gaze landed on his. He didn't dare move.

She gave him a low-burning kiss that had him leaning in. She took his hands and slipped something rectangular in. A gift box.

"Goodnight Branch," she purred.

At some point she'd found time to make chocolate covered strawberries. He took them back to the bunker. Gary sat in his usual spot on the shelf by the elevator shaft.

"Look, I know it's troll custom to exchange heart pieces, but you're the only one who's going to understand me when I say this: I can live without the tradition. If Poppy ever says she loves me, that's all the proof I need."

"I'm not being romantic, I'm being serious."

Gary was silent for a long while. He didn't say much these days. Less and less as time went on.

"I know our conversations are coming to an end. I'm... not ready to let go just yet. Okay? I'll be in the library."

Branch sat at his table, deep in thought, eating the strawberries. They were juicy, encased in a shell of sweetness that melted in his mouth.

He had a theory about what was happening. Two, actually. The first was a defensive mechanism. Poppy's heart could be protecting itself from ending up in the wrong hands again. No matter how much she wanted to rush it, the heart flower wouldn't bloom unless it felt safe.

The second theory was it had become part of the forest and she'd never see it again. She'd have to cope with not having one. Knowing Poppy it would be a long struggle to accept that reality and he was signing up to be there every step of the way, including if she didn't want kids because of it. Even though a troll could wish for a child on their own, couples always put their hearts together. He'd have to find out how important that was to her.

But he really hoped…

Branch folded an empty strawberry wrapper in half repeatedly, creasing it, unfolding, refolding. The thought of raising trollings, _their_ trollings, together in a home that was happy and safe and colorful, that they could create life like that and watch it grow, that the lives of his grandparents and parents and brother and all the generations before that could go on through him, that all those sacrifices had been for something; everything that had happened so he could be alive here, in this moment, in this dream with her, a dream that could go on and on and on long after they were gone; it was too much.

He almost didn't feel worthy.

A tear splattered on the hardwood table.

If Poppy wanted that with him someday, he couldn't think of a love greater than that.


	28. inVESTed

Tinkling pieces of colored glass knocked against each other, strung up as wind chimes in the foliage by Milton's back pasture. Hundreds of the fragments sparkled in the woods like a shattered rainbow suspended in time and space.

Milton hooked a piece of glass onto one of the ornaments. Branch watched with folded arms beside a pyramid of three critter crates. He resisted the urge to lean against the crates, first because they might topple over, and second because the animals inside sensed his gloom. They stayed as far from him as possible. At least the gray Cloud Guy hovering over his head had finally disappeared. Sometimes starting up a conversation with a friend seemed like the only way to get rid of the rainy pest.

"I don't like it," Branch continued, voicing his suspicions about Trollberg. "Something is going on."

"What makes you say that?"

"Creek hasn't been back a single time to rub some offhanded insult in my face."

Milton unlatched one of the critter crate lids. He attempted to reach the critter inside, but the yellow quilled puff dodged, squirming around the back corner whenever gentle hands came for it. Milton hummed, puzzled. He followed the critter's beady stare to Branch. "Ah. Could you back up a bit?"

Branch grunted and shuffled backward two steps.

"A little further."

He obliged.

"Perfect." Milton reached into the crate and scooped up the critter, brushing the spines flat and resting it in the crook of his arm. He kneaded along the leg the critter had been favoring until it let out an indignant squeak. Milton frowned. "I may not know Creek very well, but is it possible he is simply enjoying a fresh start?" He murmured comforting words to the critter. "Sorry, this may hurt a bit."

There was an audible pop when Milton snapped the joint back into place.

Branch growled out his complaints. Now that Creek was gone, there was no way to know if he was up to something. In truth Branch was using these thoughts as a distraction from a bigger worry.

Amethyst and Layla's baby hatched. He hadn't seen her yet, but he didn't need to. The news spread like melted butter. The newborn was healthy in every way. Except one.

He veered his attention back to the eternal pain in the neck that was Creek, a pain Branch grudgingly admitted was much less thanks to lots of physical distance. That made him anxious. He'd feel better if the feckless coward jumped out of a bush right now and stabbed him in the back with an arrogant remark. At least then he'd know things were normal.

Milton moved to the next crate. "Honestly I'm a little surprised. You haven't mentioned Creek at all since he left. Your sudden concern is unusual."

"Yeah, well," Branch said, fishing for ammo and coming up with nothing recent. "He's still annoying."

"Annoying enough for your fists to be balled up like that?"

He sighed. The list of trolls who could see through his defenses kept getting longer.

"I won't ask you to talk about whatever is bothering you. However, I do know several critters with soft fur that wouldn't mind attention. Although you might be better off taking that one for a walk." Milton nodded at a puffalo that looked grouchy enough to headbutt Branch into next week. "Smidge likes to take her whenever she needs to blow off some steam. Which is a lot."

That explained the times he'd seen the yellow troll being dragged full force up the sledding slopes.

Branch risked prodding for more information. "You heard about the new baby, right? The one everyone's talking about."

"The one you and Poppy rescued."

Yeah. That. Why couldn't he have jumped into the pod without hesitation? Bitter regret pained its way onto his face. He spoke a troll's worst nightmare. "Her hair doesn't work."

Milton genuinely didn't seem to understand. "Is that a problem?"

"Yes!" The flood gushed forth. "She'll never be able to climb into the tree. If she falls, she won't be able to catch herself. She can't defend, or hide, or camouflage, can't dance the way we do. Everything will be so different for her. She won't even be able to pick things up and store her belongings; even the most basic hair shake is outside her ability. We're using our hair all the time and we don't even think about it!

"What if she feels all alone? What if the other kids exclude her? If the trolls get nervous or superstitious around her because she's so different from the rest of them? If she's rarely happy? What if she turns gray?"

A missing limb would've been a better fate. Branch's guilt leaked out in a whisper. "It's my fault. It's all my fault."

Milton's patient smile didn't break. "Come with me."

What else was Branch going to do? If he went back into the village he'd have to hear it over and over again. _She can't move her hair._

Milton led Branch inside the mushroom clinic. Stairs up the back wall climbed to the second floor, probably a bedroom. The first was an odd mix of everyday life and critternarian equipment. A series of increasingly tall T shaped perches resided by a picture window. On one of the higher perches a small bird pecked through a cup of seeds. Iridescent blue plumage covered its body, spreading to an equally shiny green at its neck. Funny feathers crested its head and its long tail drooped in fluffy tendrils, each a different color.

Milton approached the perches. He extended his arm and whistled. The bird hopped aboard, shimmying claw over claw to get to his shoulder. Its left wing floundered awkwardly. When the bird settled its tail draped over the back of Milton's white coat like a cape. "This is Fizz. We're lucky he's inside today. He likes to wander."

They left the house and went to the outdoor enclosures, each containing a different habitat. "Most critters that stay here rehabilitate back into the wild. This little guy," Milton indicated a swag stag fawn loping up to the railing of one pen, "both his back legs were crushed under a log during that storm. He'll always walk a bit funny, but he'll be fine."

One by one Milton introduced him to critters with debilitating injuries. All of them were set to be released, eventually. Their lives would change but the damage was survivable.

Milton stopped at a pen with tall mesh netting along all four sides. Fizz began to fuss, squawking and bobbing. Milton ignored him. He prepared a bowl of uncut fruit for the penned critter. Fizz cocked his head, turned, and impatiently used his beak and talons to climb down Milton's coat in a sort of weird grasp-hook method. The bird dropped to the grass, hopped over the lawn, and proceeded to climb up the netting beak over claw. He flipped himself over the edge.

When Fizz landed in the enclosure the juvenile caterbus inside peered out of its leaf tube nest. The caterpillar was still quite young, no bigger than Milton himself. It ambled into daylight, its multifaceted gemstone eyes catching the sun. Branch had never seen one this fluffy before. Its fur pattern must've been caused by a mutation of some sort. Instead of ringed stripes, thick fluff carried splotches of many colors, as if Cooper had been put in charge of the design.

Fizz seemed to be having a good time clambering around and over the caterbus, picking twigs and leaves from its fur with his beak. He made a purring coo while he worked, scalloped neck feathers ruffling and then smoothing back down.

Milton swept the fruit bowl into his orange hair and lowered it into the enclosure. The caterbus nommed into a tango melon, splitting the fruit down the center. It only ate one half. When Fizz finished preening he bounced over, long tail fronds still partially stuck in caterpillar fur. He carved his beak into the free melon half. The two critters ate in companionable silence.

"I do everything I can, but..." Milton trailed off.

Nearby a fuzzbumble scooted along the lawn. It was one of many such free range critters that came and went. This one, however, moved slow. Of the legs used to inch its way through life, only one remained. Claw shaped patches on its puffball body revealed old scars.

"Once in a while the injuries are so severe the critter can't survive on its own. I often blame myself. If only I were better, I'd know how to craft the right implant. I'd know what medicine to give or song to sing. I'd identify the disease right the first time and I'd always know how to treat it."

A cuddlepup bounded through the white fence surrounding the critternarian clinic. It circled the caterbus pen, yipping eagerly. Fizz hauled himself over the netting and flopped down, flapping his wings to keep from tipping over. The right wing flared out but the left didn't open fully. It was unnaturally twisted. Fizz used it like a crutch.

Soon the pair were out playing, one hopping bird and one wild cuddlepup. The game was chasing Fizz's trailing plumes. The pup tumbled. It stood up, shook off, and pounced for Fizz's streamers again, tail wagging the entire time. The two animals chased each other around the field.

"He'll never get to fly with the other birds," Branch said.

"Is that what matters?"

Fizz puffed up and beat his wings, shrilling happily. His shiny plumage rippled each time he made the sound.

Milton opened a cage and removed the dressing from a songbird's wing. He placed the round purple bird back inside but left the door open. For a while, the bird tested its wing and peered at the exit. When it decided it was safe it flapped onto the wire below the open door. Then, in a burst of wingbeats, it soared into the sky and winked out of view.

Milton reached into his pocket and pulled out another piece of colored glass with smooth worn edges. His hopeful, calm, and kind voice didn't waver. "I can't save them all. I make it a habit of remembering the ones I could."

He slipped a transparent thread of spidersilk through the hole in the glass and tied it up with the others.

~ ~ ~

Branch held on to Poppy's hand. It was funny to see all the trolls in the marketplace both trying to avoid the craft jewelry stand and also wanting to pack around it as tightly as possible for a look. Amethyst was immune to the charged atmosphere. If her purple glow could stretch to encompass the playpen behind the counter it would have. She weaved elastic threads into a bracelet, smiling like Poppy at the beginning of the world.

Branch hoped he wasn't squeezing too hard, but he needed the moral support or he would avoid this part of the market for the rest of his life. Poppy and Amethyst chatted. He barely noticed their voices.

The trolling was almost the same lilac color as Milton, but with pink intensity. Her shock of orange hair glittered when she turned her head to marvel at the egg shaker she was playing with. Her hair didn't have any of the usual troll spring to it. It was light and wispy, crackled with the tiniest hint of silver tinsel. Unique.

She had a round squat body and stubby little arms. That didn't stop her from shaking a rhythm out of the handle-less maraca. The instrument was small enough to fit in the palm of his hand, but it took her both just to hold it. The beads inside rolled. Two perfectly centered teeth peeped from her bright grin.

Sweet Pea. Named after the flower commonly seen with a vibrant pink color. It was a climber, a vine…

Amethyst lifted Sweet Pea out of the playpen and gave her a bracelet of thick wooden beads. Of course Sweet experimented with putting it in her mouth and gnawing at the fruit dyed wood. Every inch of Branch screamed to say or do something. A million choking scenarios rushed through his head.

Amethyst noticed the situation almost immediately. She hefted the trolling from one arm to the other with a tired motherly sigh, the sigh of a person who hasn't quite gotten a full night's rest realizing their child is destined to taste test everything within grasp. "Sweets," she said, "Layla will be back with nectar soon. Then you can eat. Alright?" She tickled Sweet Pea's stomach with a tendril of hair and tried to reclaim the bracelet with her free hand.

Instead the beads slipped from Sweet's grasp and landed in the grass. Amethyst glanced at them, still tending to the baby in her arms and talking with Poppy at the same time. Sweet Pea stared at the beads with intent. Branch found himself desperately wishing for something to happen, for even one single hair to move. Sweet burbled a tiny laugh.

"I know we named her Sweet Pea, but I get the feeling we'll all end up calling her something else."

Sweet Pea's left leg stretched out and kicked at the beads in the grass.

Branch nearly had a heart attack. Amethyst didn't flinch, didn't so much as bat an eyelash as she gathered up her daughter's limp noodle leg and stooped to pick up the bracelet before Sweet Pea could get her foot through it. Poppy didn't react. _**How was this not surprising?!**_

He gaped until Poppy nudged his shoulder and his jaw decided to hinge shut again. Sweet Pea had been born _upside down_. Her hair didn't stretch. Her legs did.

He was surprised _his_ legs worked when Poppy strolled off with his hand still attached to hers. Shock coursed through his system. How did that even work? Could she change colors too? Would she be able to walk?

"She can walk if that's what you're wondering," Poppy teased. That only sent the mine cart of his mind on a different track, imagining how life would be if instead of pulling up by your hair you had to push up with your legs.

Eventually, Poppy took his continued silence for what it was: sheer sprinkling astonishment that Sweet Pea had extendable legs. The troll he'd overheard this morning had said nothing about legs!

"Branch, did you storm off after the first thing you heard?"

No.

Yes.

"Well, I uh. I… I…" he mangled an excuse and Poppy laughed the whole way through.

He felt like a fool, but he didn't mind being that way in front of her. Branch shook his head and listened to her joyous giggling. He decided not to say anything about the sparkling lilac heart Milton had showed him before he left. The critternarian had been as politely nervous as the day he'd come seeking Smidge for the first time.

In the end Milton pulled on the large gem and it clicked apart into two halves, one to keep and one to share. "I don't know if she'll accept it, but I'll work up the courage to ask."

Branch was sure if Milton didn't ask soon, Smidge would come bursting into the clinic at a ridiculous morning hour roaring, "Milton will you be mine?!"

Out of the corner of his eye Branch gazed at Poppy, minding her own happy business like being next to him was the most natural thing in all of trolldom. And yeah, it felt like it was. This was a good place to be.

He looked ahead. He was nearly finished, so he could finally surprise her. All that was left was to pick a good time. Tomorrow, or the day after, maybe.

~ ~ ~

Her bergen best friend came to the village without notice. Bridget's pigtails were frazzled and her eyes had a hard focus to them Poppy hadn't seen before. Dark rings betrayed lack of sleep. Bridget was still smiling though, a cute curl that got bigger when she saw Poppy.

"Bridget! What happened?"

"I'm worried about Trollberg—"

"Are we too loud? I can tell everyone to be quieter. Gosh, I thought the trolls there were quieter types, I mean, except Stella, she's super loud, like _super_ loud."

"Poppy it's okay. It's not the trolls I'm worried about, it's the bergens. Someone fell on the Trollberg lawn this morning. That's what I came over to tell you."

Poppy felt a rush of sympathy. Bergens were tall; a fall that far must be painful. "Did they get hurt?"

"What if a troll had been out there?"

A troll would've been crushed. "Oooo," Poppy said, wincing. "Well, how about a fence? We can make it pretty, decorate it."

"That was my plan too!" Bridget said with enthusiasm. It dissolved back into the tired, stressed bergen on the outside. "But the castle is really low on funds right now."

Poppy still struggled with many aspects of bergen culture. Money was one of them. "Can we, uh, 'pay' you for it?"

Bridget clapped a hand over her mouth to stifle a giggle-snort. "You don't have any money though."

"I could get a job," Poppy said excitedly. "Wait, how does a queen get money?"

"Taxes."

She wasn't sure she liked the sound of that word. "That sounds bad."

"It's how Gristle and I pay for things like the Trollberg fence."

They kept talking about bergen economics, but the more she heard, the more mind boggling the whole thing was. How did you decide the point value of actions? It was like the most complicated board game ever. Either way, it was clear Bridget needed help if they were going to make Trollberg safer. The trolls couldn't build something as heavy duty as a bergen fence on their own.

Poppy recited the explanation of bergen finances at a meeting in the fun dungeon. Her friends appeared as confused as she felt.

"I actually think it makes a lot of sense," Branch said, ignoring all the baffled looks as usual. "It's a literal way to keep track of favors, make sure everyone does their fair share."

"But what happens when one really cool troll does a lot of really cool things and ends up with all the money, mmm?" Guy said.

"They share it!" Cooper said.

"Split it up equally." Smidge shrugged. "Makes sense."

Cooper laughed. "Oh I was thinking a big money shower. Paper and coins everywhere. Grab what you can."

Smidge's eyes grew wide. "Ohhhh. That sounds way more fun. Maybe we should have money too."

"Guys!" Poppy interrupted. "This still doesn't explain how we're going to pay for a fence."

"Wait, I have a question," Suki said. "This currency stuff, you trade things to get it, right?"

"Right."

"Can we sell Branch?"

It was quiet for a second. Then the room exploded.

"Can I buy that face he's making right now?" Cooper asked. "I want to be able to make that face!"

"Satin's for sale," Chenille offered.

"Yeah Poppy, how much is a troll worth?" Smidge asked. "Because there's someone I wouldn't mind paying for, if you know what I mean." She wiggled her eyebrows with a sleazy giggle.

"But wouldn't Branch have to sell himself, or is that something you would do Poppy?" Biggie tried to reason.

"Dibs on Mr. Dinkles!" Suki said.

"Mr. D is _not_ for sale. He's priceless."

"Ooookay," Branch groaned over everyone. The commotion died down. "Clearly you guys don't get it, so here's my plan. Poppy and I go to Trollberg and sort this out while the rest of you stay here and do fun troll stuff."

"All in favor for Poppy selling Branch!" Smidge called.

Branch threw his hands out. "What? That's not what I—"

"Aye!" the room agreed.

He slumped over the table chin-first, giving the room full view of his unappreciative glare. Poppy had to drag him out of the building with her hair.

If they left now they'd have time to get back to Troll Village by nightfall. True, they could spend the night in Trollberg. It was designed for that. But at this phase of development she had a sneaking suspicion they would end up in a "there's only one bed" situation, and Branch wasn't exactly in a good mood. He would insist on sleeping on the floor and that would annoy her to no end.

"We'll need another flyer bug. Mine is fast but she's small," Poppy said.

Branch gave a confident chuckle. "Oh, that won't be a problem."

As sure as he seemed, there was no way they'd both fit. She whistled for her bug. He could ride it over to the stables and collect another one.

The peppy ringed royal flyer came through the trees, but she wasn't alone. A second bug flew at her side. It had a zigzag down its back.

Branch rifled through his hair and pulled out two spotted fruits. Her bug was all over him in seconds, chittering and munching fruit. While Branch was being assaulted, he held the second fruit up high. The new bug carefully plucked it from his hand.

"Zigs won't let Lifesaver out of his sight," Branch struggled to say, trying to push her bug back with his hands to avoid being mauled.

Poppy didn't recognize the new flyer bug at all. It looked wild. "Will he let you ride him?"

"Sit on? Yes. Ride? Like I said," Branch jabbed a thumb at the royal flyer, "Won't go anywhere without her."

Poppy grinned. "Want to find out how fast he is?"

They took off, tearing through the trees, bursting from the forest over flower plains into the blaze of desert sun and sand. There were no obstacles now. Poppy thrust her bug's antennae forward. Rumble of wings became a roar. The wind on her skin was a razor, her eyes watering, hair a line into the past. The future was a squinted slit of snow, a breathless shock of ice burning her lungs. She couldn't move. Cold, cold, cold.

Winter whipped away and she was still frozen in a blur of green, the castle spire growing up from distant hills. Icicle bones cracked as she craned her head to look behind. A blue comet chased them. Stroke for stroke the wild bug matched hers, unrelenting all the way to Trollberg.

She climbed off her bug and tried to shake the chill. The ride home was always more comfortable because winter was followed by blazing summer heat.

"Use your hair next time," Branch said. He unwrapped himself from the effective but silly looking natural covering, something that became not so silly when he kept going and took off his leaf vest. He turned the vest around and held it open.

Branch wasn't a glitter troll, nor was he extroverted. Even when he went swimming he wore something up top. He had taken his vest off once or twice in the past. Nothing she hadn't seen before. So this was fine, totally normal. That's what she told herself as she slipped her arms through the holes. The garment was still warm with Branch's body heat.

"Ugh, Poppy, you're cold."

Shirtless Branch hugged her from behind, arms layering over hers to heat her up. He was being very matter-of-fact about this. Maybe it was a survival thing. Maybe she wasn't supposed to feel snuggly and safe. Too bad. That's how she felt. "Thanks Branch."

They left the flyer bugs and approached the base of the troll tree. Branch didn't ask for his vest back. The temptation to look and touch was strong.

"Wow, this place is really coming along," Branch observed. He had broad shoulders and a straight, smooth back. The field of bare skin stopped at the hem of his shorts.

Right: progress on Trollberg. She lashed her hair around a tree limb and pulled herself up. The artisans had done a fabulous job so far. Carved pillars accented pathways lined with leafy plants. Fun swirly slides in natural colors rambled around the treetop. A large, cream colored building against the trunk marked the spa. Water streamed down a leaf into a pool at the fore. There weren't any lounge chairs there yet.

Currently they were in the furnishing stage. Most of the pods would be empty. She could see pretty colors peeping through the leaves. Some were private and secluded, others loud and open. Each had its own balcony – an extreme luxury at home. Nearby they'd find mini golf, hammocks, picnic areas, a playground, and a buried treasure garden for digging.

Branch stopped to examine things. Every time he caught up she'd hear the drum of his feet over the wood. She snuck a glance here and there. Without a shirt it was obvious there was a lot of strength under the cuddly softness of his hugs. It occurred to her in all the time she'd known him, he could have easily resisted her, pushed away, broken out of a hair hold by force. He'd certainly escaped a lot of group hugs via physical strength. But apart from pillow fights and sports, he'd never turned his power against her. Strong Branch. Gentle Branch.

Even his affections were careful, like she was the one setting the limit. Aside from the love bite incident he hadn't rejected any of her advances, and he often had that heat in his eyes. Maybe he was waiting for her to make a move.

Or her move could end in wild flailing and, "Poppy what are you doing?!"

She huffed in frustration. She hadn't managed to bring up moving out of the bunker and she didn't wish to now because the thought of going back to friends made her want to barf rainbows. How much more of this fun should they have together when there was a potential jawbreaker in the party mix?

Though their together time hardly classified as basic "fun" at this point. She wanted him near, to be closer to him in every way. She wanted this to last.

That meant she had to decide if she could survive a separate living situation.

It was hard to think clearly around all that skin.

Branch took specific interest in the carved trim inside the spa. He ran his fingers over the woodwork and stood back, no doubt calculating how the patterns were cut and pieced together. A thought about where those hands could go flashed through her mind.

She was reconsidering an overnight stay now that she was wearing a leaf vest.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the troll they'd come here to meet. "Greetings Poppy and Branch," Creek said.

The two men regarded each other coolly. Branch spoke. "Bridget says we could use some defenses here. Any ideas on how to pay for that?"

"Actually yes. And I'll explain them in due time. But first, water? Juice? Tea?"

"Oooo, water please," Poppy said, thirsty. For water. Definitely.

Creek served the drinks with a smile. He put his palms together and watched the two of them. He seemed to be waiting for something. Maybe he was thinking. Branch lifted his cup.

"I'm sensing a lot of built up energy," Creek said. "There's a pod you two could share over by the playground."

Branch choked in the middle of his sip. He threw back a gulp of water to try and contain the coughing fit. Creek's face beamed with self-satisfied glee.

"No… thanks," Branch managed through coughs, piercing Creek with a glare. "We're good."

Creek raised his eyebrows and looked at Poppy. She shrugged and said nothing. If Branch didn't want it, she'd keep her hands to herself and pine for him in private later. She clicked into work mode.

"Thank you for reining in your aura, Poppy," Creek said. "Though it seems the same can't be said for all of us." His eyes flicked to the teal troll glowering at him.

"Hurry up and tell us your ideas so we can leave. Please."

Branch's irritated comment resulted in Creek waiting for an uncomfortably long time before speaking.

One of the goals Creek had was to better understand bergens and their culture. When bergens were curious about the group yoga and meditation exercises on the lawn, Creek invited them to participate. If he collected money from his existing pupils eventually they'd have enough funds for a fence. Creek didn't know how much a class was worth, though, and where would they put all those huge coins?

"They have paper money," Branch said. He was right. They'd once seen Gristle give Bridget a stack of bills to make her happy. It hadn't worked. Happiness must be expensive.

Branch went to analyze prices while Poppy stayed in Trollberg to find a spot for the money and catch up with the other trolls. She was about to step outside when she caught the tune Creek was whistling.

It was familiar, and yet she'd never heard it before. Rapid succession of notes breezed in a bright melody. Creek whistled up a storm of scales and complicated sixteenth note patterns. What were the lyrics? Could words even go to that fast without becoming mush? The music pulled at her emotions, drawing up memories of sunlight and flowers. Freedom.

"What's that song?" she asked, poking her head into the sauna. Leftover heat from the sauna rocks radiated over her. Creek scrubbed at the wooden panels with a brush and a bucket of water.

"I haven't titled it yet," Creek said. "The music here is different."

"Bergen music?" It sounded nothing like any bergen music she'd heard.

"No. The plants. The wildlife. Together." The sound of the scrub brush shushed in a constant rhythm over the planks. "Besides singing I didn't have any way to play music when I was alone. I guess you could say I learned to listen in a different way."

"Could you teach me?" She asked, curious.

"That may be a bit difficult," he said, pausing. "I tried instructing Ripple and Stella, but they say they need to know the words. Nature hasn't provided me with any. There may be none."

Poppy tried to copy the wild ramble of Creek's whistling. The sounds slurred together and she couldn't remember the score. He was right. She itched for lyrics. Without them the tune fell out of her memory.

"The notes _are_ the lyrics," he said. "I'm not sure how else to explain."

To be fair, she did try a couple of times to repeat bars of Creek's song back to him. She couldn't do it. It was an instrumental but also more than that. Why was the sound so familiar? The feelings behind it were powerful. The heat from the sauna, the wordless music that still spoke; it reminded her of the afternoon with Branch at Black Rock.

Yes. That's why it was familiar. Different music, different feelings, using the same wordless language.

When Branch came back he insisted on setting a flag boundary so they knew how far to stay from the street in case of another accident. He seemed wary. "There's more bergens than usual," he said.

"Of course. A lot of them stayed inside before, too miserable to do much else." Her bergen friends said so. It sounded awful.

"Ah," he replied, but he had that crease on his brow so she knew he was still thinking about it. He wasn't scared like he used to be, but he didn't trust them.

She kissed his cheek and the worry line melted away. "Come on," she said, returning his vest so he didn't freeze before the desert. "Let's go home."

Back at the village Branch didn't take her home, though. He took her somewhere else.


	29. The Bunker

Branch asked her to land just outside Troll Village, at the trail to the lookoff that connected to the bunker route. He slid off his flyer bug. "Let's go for a walk," he said.

He ignored the trail, choosing instead to meander through the scenery of Troll Village. They wandered, her hand in his, down well-worn paths and around mushrooms. They stopped on the peak of one of the root bridges and looked out over the water. Orange evening sky was giving way to darkness. Tiny lantern plants at the ends of the bridge flowered awake, emitting a luminescent glow.

Branch was content to lean on the bridge rail with her, pressing close and watching the fireflies. He was thinking about something. Whatever it was, maybe a couple turns around the path and he'd say it. For now he was quiet.

They started up their walk again, towards the base of the troll tree. Branch liked to take her home if they were together at the end of the day like this. Sometimes he stayed for a little bit, drank tea, sat outside, read. He'd cooked dinner on a couple of occasions and put lots of effort into spoiling her. It made her excited to send him off with a lunch she'd put together, or to invite him over for a meal she'd made herself. It was easy to tell he loved it, as much as he loved being praised and given affections like hair brushing and cuddles.

When he came for those visits it made her realize how much she wanted him to stay, in the long run. But each trip to her pod always ended the same. He went back to the bunker.

Overhead, lights winked on as trolls settled in for the night. Rainbow pods lit the underside of the tree canopy like festival lanterns. On the other side of the trunk colored beams would be coming from the club where DJs spun songs on their wooferbugs, but here, the only sounds were muffled chatter of people walking skyward paths and clatter of dinnerware from a low hanging pod. Further up, guitar strings picked a warm tune. The troll beside her was silent.

There were some things about Branch that weren't going to change. A personality could shift a lot over the years, like a tree that grew more and more rings of complexity with age. Some parts grew fast. Others were slow, decades-long adventures. But there always seemed to be a true self at the heart of it, something that came closer to the surface the more a person was willing to embrace it. And, well, Branch, he was always going to be a quieter troll that needed space.

If she couldn't accept that, she should have ended this before it began. Because Branch wasn't flexible like a flower. He didn't bend easily to the times, or to the whims of other people. He was a tree with deep roots that grew and grew, spreading its branches to support all the leaves, blossoms, and fruit it had to offer.

She wasn't going to ask him to give up his space, because he needed it. She wasn't going to smother him. And she knew it would smother her to live the way he did in isolation. They couldn't live together.

But she also couldn't let him go. She didn't want to.

She made her decision.

Exhale.

"Well?" Branch asked.

"Huh?"

"You were thinking really hard about something. Then you sighed. I hope it's good news."

"Oh! Yeah. It is. Don't worry about it," she said.

"Me? Not worry?" He looked around, as if she might be talking to someone else. "Me?"

She smiled and nudged him. He bumped back, so she returned the favor and jumped out of reach. It escalated into a short chase around one of the lantern-lit circular paths, where he kept trying to snatch her hand for holding and she wouldn't let him, both of them laughing.

At least for the times he was in the village they'd be able to have fun together. Maybe he'd stay for a while tonight and read.

Poppy gave him her hand. They walked around the base of the troll tree on the way to her pod, the grass on her feet turning cool as the last heat of the day disappeared. Stars peeped through gaps in the leaves above.

"I've been thinking about the bunker," he said.

"Cooper said you were expanding it."

"It's not quite finished, but yes."

Poppy had a bit of a fear about why he was doing it. "You're not… hoping I'll live there, are you?"

Branch's reaction was so sudden and emotive it startled her. "Pppsssshh! Haha! Ha!" he laughed. "You? Underground? Poppy, you wouldn't last two weeks down there!"

"Well gee, thanks for the vote of confidence." Somehow this was offensive. She could totally live underground if she had to.

He was still chuckling. "Sorry. I didn't mean… no. No, I'm not hoping you'll live there. C'mon. Be reasonable. Do you really think I want the whole village at my – our – doorstep every morning?"

"Oh so now it's _our_ doorstep," she huffed.

Branch rubbed the back of his head. "Well yeah, sure. You can come over any time you want, you know."

Oh. She didn't feel so indignant now. Actually she felt special. Ugh, Branch.

"What I was trying to say is I'm going to update the bunker's emergency shelter function. Trust me, after the couple times the village has been down there I have a lot of notes on how to improve it. Do you know how easy it is for kids to get into just about anything? Or baby birds for that matter? What a nightmare that was."

"So that's what you've been expanding for?"

"Nope, that's a future project. Right now I'm doing a security upgrade. You guys break in often enough I realized my survival bunker could be compromised at any time. What if I got a Cloud Guy infestation? What if there's a flood? What if moles tunnel through the walls, eat all my rations, and use up all my party supplies?"

"That's a little extreme."

"Is it though? Is it? My point is, it's too risky to have everything in one place."

Their walk had taken them to the building site she'd approved on the quiet side of the tree. A large leaf tarp draped off the area. Branch's hair reached up and unfastened a trick string holding it all together.

"I should have expanded a long time ago, but, well, let's just say I finally found a reason to do it."

The leaves ruffled to the ground.

There, nestled between two roots, was a little house with an arched door and circular windows and a roof. A unique house unlike any other in the village, same as the troll himself.

"Thanks for walking me home," Branch said. Then he kissed her hand.

She'd been wrong.

Nothing was more important to Branch than his bunker, the home he'd spent his life building, the place he felt safe, the place he could get away. And she was wrong. It wasn't the most important thing. Not at all.

After all those years the troll who wanted to be left alone changed his mind. For her.

It was her.

Tears welled in her eyes while she stared at the impossible house. She was crying. Branch reeled her into a hug. She sniffled, face pressed into his chest, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breathing.

"You know I love you, right?" he murmured.

She squeezed against him, wishing she could melt away. He'd never said it aloud so openly.

"It's okay. You don't have to say it back. I just wanted you to know, is all."

Her heart couldn't take it. It started to beat again, after all this time.

"Do you want to see inside?"

She nodded, downy fuzz rubbing her face. She couldn't let go of him.

Branch held her and waited, brushing his hand through the back of her hair the way she loved. Roiling emotions calmed down. She relaxed. He led her to the door.

He'd stayed with her through thick and thin.

"Pass me your hair," Branch said softly. He held her strands against his and demonstrated how to make the shape. "This is the key to get in. There's a spare in the hidden panel over there." He swished his key into the door and unlocked it.

He'd sang for her, danced with her, hugged her, kissed her.

Branch flicked the glowshrooms inside, sending soft light over the living room, its fireplace and circular rug, furniture and walls stocked with books and trinkets. The kitchen overlooked a garden. A short hall on the other side of the living room led to a bathroom and bedroom. His plush crocodile was on the bed, the covers rumpled around it.

He'd given her everything he had. His loyalty, his strength, his passion, his love.

Branch showed her the nook with the coded entry and taught her the password. The steps led underground to a workshop. Tools lined the walls and work tables, some organized, others mixed in with projects in various stages of completion. Soon the pantry would be full of jams and jellies, canned fruits and veggies, pickles, preserves, and dried herbs.

He was building this to last. A life with her.

They returned to the living room. One of the shelf slots was especially colorful, full of photos of Branch and his friends. In front was an image of her together with him. The shelf below that held his card collection.

They'd been drawn to each other even then.

"What do you think?" he asked, wanting to make her happy. Wanting her to know he was always there.

"I love you, Branch," she said.

And she watched it happen. She watched his smile broaden, his ears tip up, sparkles glitter over his cheeks, his eyes lighting up with stars. "I love you too, Poppy."

They embraced before the emotion overflowed, and she took a moment to admire the steady sky blue of his gaze, no longer searching because he knew. He knew. She poured all the feelings of her heart into a firm, unbroken kiss. In return she received the devotion Branch had been waiting to give. He squeezed her back gently while they held each other, lips together, turning to a slow dance with music only they could hear. She felt the light inhale and exhale of each breath against her skin while the intimate connection lived on in the house beneath the troll tree.

When the kiss ended he rested his forehead against hers while they continued to rock together, swaying in a slow circle. Sparkles of pink and blue twinkled as they floated down from above.

"Poppy," Branch said. "Would you… stay with me tonight?"

Her heart fluttered at the thought of sharing a bed with him. "Yeah. I'll get ready and come back, okay?"

"Okay…" he said dreamily, reluctant to let her go. His hands slid along her arms as she slipped away.

She closed the door and stepped out into the night as a glowing, sparkling beacon. Was this real? It felt so impossibly strong. She couldn't believe this was happening. Soon she would wake up, the lovely dream fading away as she began her day.

Her feet carried her over treetop paths, the smooth feeling of hardwood floors. The softness of her pod echoed the rug in his living room. She had her pajamas on now, and this was still real, it was still happening. Cut tiles of acorn cap as a roof. Her imagination couldn't make that up; only one troll thought that way, and it wasn't her.

Light flowed into the night through circular windows. The doorknob turned easily, still unlocked.

Branch lounged in the chair beside the sofa with his feet up, reading a thin purple book with no title. When he stood to reshelve it she admired his long sleeved, button down blue and white striped pajamas. He looked both dapper and adorable.

She had a permanent blush at this point, but then, so did he. She looked at the floor and noticed what else he was wearing.

"Are those bunny slippers?"

His gaze flicked down to the white loafers with long ears and cute curly smile faces. "Nope. Look like normal slippers to me."

She laughed and took his hand, leading him to the bedroom. "C'mon, you."

"I do have a name. Have we met yet?"

She stole a kiss. "Does that ring any bells?"

"Hm. I think I might be starting to remember something. Better do that again." This time he kissed her, warm and soft.

"Ohhh, right," Poppy said. "Bark, was it?"

Branch's eyes sparkled at the memory. "Gee, you haven't called me that in ages."

She bopped his nose with a finger. "Because _some_ body wouldn't tell me his name. Just be glad my dad didn't go with his other guess."

"What?"

"Bite."

"Pff," Branch said. "Who would name their kid Bite?"

"Exactly. Bark it is." Poppy bounced onto the now made-up bed, laughing. She folded back the covers and scuttled under.

Branch shuffled off his bunny slippers. "Good thing we're going to sleep or you'd be calling me that all night."

The weight of the bed shifted when he climbed in. Poppy watched him lie down beside her. "Who says we're going to sleep?" she joked, still feeling silly.

Branch wore a big grin. "Bark. If he lets any rambunctious princesses in here it'll be the death of him."

"The little death, maybe," she said. Poetic and naughty.

His eyebrows shot up. "You're sharp tonight."

"I've had a _lot_ of practice with a certain witty troll."

He wiggled closer. "You should introduce us sometime."

"One of you is enough. I don't know what I'd do with two."

Branch's voice dropped low and suggestive. "Think of all the fun we could have."

Feisty! Poppy gasped at the outlandish innuendo and tried to push away, but it was too late. Branch had his arm over her. He pulled her against his chest. She squeaked with giggles and wiggled, but he held her fast.

"Nope," Branch said. "You're not going anywhere. It's rude to leave a sleepover before the sleep is over."

"Haha! Branch!" She resisted, but the flannel against her face and the heart beating beyond it were calling. Slowly she relaxed. The arm over her loosened and Branch tucked his head above hers. She cozied up to his warm, solid body. Tranquility draped over her. For a while they lay together, calm and restive.

"I never knew life could be this good," he whispered.

"I knew there was someone special under all those layers. I didn't know it would be you."

Poppy rolled over so her back was against him, and he hummed happily, melding himself around her. Sleepy kisses trailed along the side of her face where he nuzzled in for the night. His arm came to rest over her belly and she was blanketed with a sensation of pure serenity, safety, and love. Awareness of everything but that feeling faded. Branch fell asleep and took her with him.

When she woke the dream was still going.

Dawn filtered through partially drawn curtains in Branch's bedroom. The door was closed, muting the sizzling and hum-singing beyond. A mellow, savory aroma announced she was in for more special treatment.

She was in love with Branch.

Her heart pulsed its quiet rhythm. Even a lost heart could be regained; sometimes it just took the right person to find it. All she had to do was plant her troll gem and it would manifest as crystallized love, proof that she could share with Branch so that he knew, without a doubt, that she wanted to be with him.

She got up and stretched, today's responsibilities far, far beyond the soothing layers of fuzzy pajamas, breakfast smell, and song.

The kitchen was full of an energetic, overjoyed Branch.

"I see the sun's finally up," he said with a quick peck to her cheek before sweeping back to the stovetop, dancing in place while he poured chopped veggies and a handful of cheese over two omelettes, folding them over.

His happiness was infectious. She couldn't stop saying it. They would be saying it all the time from now on. "I love you!"

If it was possible for Branch to beam any brighter in his striped pajamas, he did. "I love you too." He plated the omelettes, drizzled creamy sauce over top, and added a sprig of parsley. He served them up and lifted the acorn cap on the table to reveal cute little hotcakes, singing while he did.

 _I love you too  
_ _I love you too  
_ _Oh through and through  
_ _Everything you do_

 _I'll be your tight squeeze  
_ _You'll be my queen bee  
_ _I'll make you honey  
_ _All golden sunny_

He poured honey over the hotcakes.

 _I'll bring you flowers  
_ _And dance for hours  
_ _Because I'm buzzin'  
_ _For extra lovin'_  
_Oh yes I'm buzzin'  
_ _For extra lovin'_

Branch pulled his chair back with swagger and sat. The black and yellow bands striped over his hair gradually faded back to normal.

What a playful showoff. She couldn't keep the mirth out of her voice. "Nobody will believe me if I tell them you did that." She stretched her hair around the side of the table and Branch accepted the invitation. Blue and pink wrapped around each other.

"You should try telling everyone," he said. "I wouldn't mind sharing my role as the village crazy."

She smiled through a mouthful of honey and hotcake. "You're not crazy."

"Oh I'm definitely crazy." Branch lifted a piece of omelette to his mouth. "Crazy in love."

~ ~ ~

It was late into the morning when she got back to her pod. For the final time she cut a strand of hair, tied it around her gem, and planted it, eager to see the seedling sprout and flourish. It was a slow and patient thing, but at this point she'd waited so long and made so many attempts it was hard not to get jazzed up and continuously check for a sprout.

Bedtime cuddles and kisses (often fiery ones) continued, sometimes at his place and sometimes at hers, yet still her gem grew nothing. That made her nervous. She knew her feelings were real. They were definitely there, so what was going on?

She started to sense something was wrong. Something was wrong with her. Like maybe she was…

Broken.

No, that was silly. Everything was amazing. It was incredibly frustrating this was still a problem. That's all.

The next time she was in the Bergentown castle throne room, Poppy couldn't sit still. Bridget was talking about – something – and Poppy switched the order of the colored cushions again. Pink on the left, then two blue, then white, and… or maybe… she started stacking them into a pyramid.

"Hey Bridge, how do bergen couples prove they love each other?"

"Um, well, they buy gifts, spend time together, say 'I love you.' Is that not what you guys do?"

"No we do that too. But when trolls plan to commit they exchange pieces of their hearts."

Bridget's eyes widened. "Literally?"

"I take it you don't have that tradition."

"That's not even possible for a bergen. You'd die."

"Wha? How do you have kids then?"

Poppy returned to Trollberg with loads of horrible revelations about bergen relationships. Well, in a way they were beautiful because they relied purely on trust. Poppy trusted her love was true, so she could be like a bergen and love Branch without proof. He'd said that was fine, before, and he wasn't desperate for a proposal now. She felt way better when she considered it that way.

But bergen reproduction? Sex was required, which was weird. After that the process was as bizarre as their economy. And here she'd thought the rare bergen or two was just fat in an unusual way. Good thing she'd never said anything.

That did mean Melissa and Gurble were having a baby, though. Fun!

Or maybe not…

Yikes.

Perhaps the rising numbers of new bergen babies was the reason for Bridget's leadership stress. Bridget hadn't improved since last time. Her hair was as frazzled as her nerves.

Poppy recounted the money at the base of the Trollberg tree. The math didn't add up. There should be more than this.

"Creek, have the trolls been sharing the money?"

"Not that I know of, why?"

"How many bergen students have you taught so far?"

Creek rubbed the back of his neck and cast his gaze to the floor. "Can't rightly say I kept track of that."

He wouldn't have. This was Creek.

Ripple and Creek weren't together anymore, so Poppy asked a different troll to tally the accounts from now on. It was fine if the trolls shared money, but she was curious to see where it went. In this case there could even be too much sharing if all the money disappeared before they could pay for the fence.

Poppy spent the night in Trollberg and wished Branch was there. The trolls didn't sense it, but she did: there was unease and tension among her bergen friends. Family issues, they said, relatives coming to stay in town. Poppy saw newcomers on occasion in the streets, well-dressed, colorful bergens with nice teeth and friendly dispositions. They all spoke the language but once or twice she'd heard unrecognizable conversations.

Maybe there _were_ more bergens than usual.

All of the Trollberg residents were happy, though, so she returned to Troll Village and shifted her focus to friendship matching villagers with bergens. Life partied on.

~ ~ ~

She was sound asleep in her pod when something settled on her shoulder and the words "Poppy hey" blearily stumbled through fuzzed consciousness. "Hey, Poppy. Poppy."

His voice.

"Mmmnh. Branch? What's wrong?"

The shoulder touch went away and the bed shifted. Branch's familiar snuggle wrapped her up from behind, but it was desperate and he kept pawing at her, trying to get as close as possible. She was awake now. He was trembling. Her stomach turned.

"Nightmare. Had to make sure you were okay," he said, face mashed into the back of her neck.

She took the large hand wrapped around hers and held it to her lips, hoping to calm him down. "I'm here. I'm not going anywhere."

The shaking stopped and Branch quit trying to burrow himself against her. Eventually he heaved a big exhale. "Sorry."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

He was silent. Well, that was okay too. Poppy closed her eyes and waited for the dip in breathing that came when he got sleepy. Then she'd wiggle to get him to scooch to his side of the bed.

He didn't fall asleep, though. He held her for a while before his soft night voice picked up. "It's rare but I still get nightmares about then. They take grandma, my family, and everyone. They take you—" he choked off.

"Is that… what happened to your parents? I never did ask if your crocodile was from them."

Branch stiffened. Then he said, "Please don't be mad at me."

"Why would I be mad at you?"

"My brother made Crocko for me."

She could hear the wedge crickets trilling far, far below. A brother. He'd never told anyone. Would he even be willing to discuss it?

"Did you have any other siblings?" she asked, quiet into the dark.

"No. Just the one."

"What was his name?"

"Gary."

This whole time...

Poppy rolled over and sought out Branch's features with her hand. She felt her way up to his hair and stroked it the way he found relaxing. Branch pressed his face to her chest. "He would've had a family by now, Poppy, he...

"We used to play together. He'd sketch out the craziest ideas for toys, and we'd try to build them. He always talked about how he wanted to make others happy, how important it was to create happiness. He was so sure we could invent something that would bring joy to even the bergens. I… I really believed him."

"Oh, Branch." She kept stroking his hair. "I'm so sorry. I thought..." that he'd gone crazy from solitude. "You used to call him your son. Do you remember that?"

"I built the remote. It felt like the closet thing to a family I'd ever have."

Lonely. She hoped to cotton candy clouds he no longer felt that way. She nuzzled what she could reach of the troll cuddled tight against her, planting little kisses of comfort on his ear and forehead. "But you have us now. The village is your family. And you have me."

"I'm glad I do."

He knew he wasn't alone.

"That's why you don't talk to Gary anymore," she realized. In fact, the last time Branch had gone on patrol all he'd said was he needed to get his 'remote.'

Gary was gone.

Poppy felt like crying. If Branch wasn't going to, she would for him. All of the village defenses and fun gizmos that had come in handy – the whole time they'd been named in honor of a brother long gone.

"When you first started talking to me, it was hard to face my own colors again. I needed someone to be there, someone who understood. And to make sure no one else would get taken. That was Gary."

~ ~ ~

Branch wasn't done dropping shockers on her.

A few days later she was in the middle of a ribbon cutting when Cooper came tearing through the leaves. "Poppy, come quick! Hurry!"

On scene the first thing she saw was the fearful crowd and a large mound of black feathers. The royal flyer bug and her mate huddled nearby, accompanied by a brilliant adult Bird of Paradise. All three creatures had their attention turned to the main event.

Within the crowd a wide band of Branch's hair cordoned off a circle. There, in the center of the grass, a small body lay motionless.


	30. Tag & Tension

Branch recklessly jumped off Lifesaver midair, using his hair to catch the ground before he slammed into it. He rushed a wall around the fallen figure. "Guy! Get Dr. Moonbloom!"

Black and yellow feathers littered the ground from the fight. The dark thing that attacked his bird wasn't moving anymore.

Poppy outran the doctor. He lifted the wall to let her in. "Don't move him," Branch said.

She knelt by the body and looked at the golden glitter skin, the gem embedded on its stomach, and the wings. "Branch, this is a troll," she said breathlessly.

"I know."

"He's just a kid!"

"I know."

Dr. Moonbloom arrived on the scene. They stepped back so she could work.

The troll was small, no bigger than Keith, but he looked to be in his late teens. He was chubbier than a glitter troll and naked like one, though his sunny skin wasn't as sparkly. It was more of a matte glitter. The powder blue gemstone set in his stomach matched colors with the large puff of hair atop his head styled with swooping curls. A pair of small pixie wings sprouted from his back.

Cherub, Branch thought. Like one of the angels in grandma's scrapbooks. Apparently, they were real. And apparently they were trolls. He quickly sequestered the thought and shoved it to the back of his mind so his worldview could fall apart at a more convenient time.

"He's unconscious," Dr. Moonbloom announced. "We must move him to the hospital."

The doctor proceeded to interrogate Branch about what happened while two of her assistants secured a neck brace on the cherub troll and transferred him to a stretcher. By the time they left, the little guy was awake, listless, and confused. He didn't respond to any questions.

The events were a blur in Branch's mind. He'd had a foreboding feeling and came out here to witness Paradise and a species of unknown bird engaged in an aerial battle. Paradise was holding and protecting something glittery. Branch tried to get close with Lifesaver, but Zigs kept getting in the way. The birds fought, the golden figure fell, Branch failed to catch it, and Paradise struck down the black bird immediately after.

Somewhere during or after the failed hair grab Branch realized the golden thing was a troll. Horror at seeing a trolling hit the ground clutched his heart in ice claws. The cold shards of failure were sinking in, now. Poppy embraced him and he stayed there to melt the ice. The critters huddled around them in a group hug.

They looked at the dead bird. There was nothing noteworthy about it apart from being all black.

"We need to bury it," Poppy said.

"Don't touch that!" Peppy called, making his way through the crowd. He stood before the feathery hulk. "I've seen this before. It's a crow. If you bury it here the plants will die."

Milton examined the bird. "It doesn't look native to this region at all."

"Dad, where did that troll come from?" Poppy asked.

"That I don't know, sweetie."

"Probably not the same place as this fellow," Milton said. "Look at the coloration."

The pitch feathers stood out like a target among the vibrant hues of Troll Village. Its body turned out to be okay to touch; it was the insides that were poisonous. Not wishing to pollute the land, Poppy chose to send the carcass out to the fire flower predators that incinerated their prey and consumed the ashes. Less gruesome than leaving the crow in Bummer Territory for the vultures.

At the hospital, Dr. Moonbloom's overly dramatic attitude did an amazing job at keeping curious trolls from bothering the patient.

"He's kaput," the doctor said.

"Meaning… he's asleep?" Poppy asked.

"Correct."

The troll had been lapsing in and out of awareness, dazed and confused. He'd said nothing so far. At the moment he was asleep. He was going to stay in the hospital for a day or two in case the head injury got worse. Even if it didn't worsen it would take weeks to recover. During that time he could color fluctuate, be unable to focus, and be sensitive to light and sound. No parties, no scrapbooks, and lots of rest were the doctor's orders.

Poppy watched the sleeping troll. Cooper hid behind her, his neck craned around and ears flipped forward with great interest. He'd insisted on being the third troll allowed in. Everyone else had to stay outside.

"What should we do, Branch?"

"We can't keep him at your place. It gets too loud during the morning song."

"We need to find a troll who can take care of him until we know where he's from."

They debated whether to send him to the quieter Trollberg on a caterbus since flying was out of the question.

"Can he stay with me?" Cooper asked. He stood next to the troll's cot.

Cooper having responsibility for the teen? Branch rubbed the back of his neck and looked out a round hospital pod window. He'd been trying to entertain the idea of hosting the kid at his house. Someone else's trolling living with him was a huge and unsettling responsibility. This wasn't a decision to be made lightly.

"Okay," Poppy agreed to Cooper's request.

"Poppy," Branch cut in. "Are you sure? What if it's too noisy, or the kid gets hurt, or—" She put a hand on his shoulder. He stopped talking.

"If we can't figure out where his home is, he can stay with you until we do, Cooper."

"Yay!" Cooper cheered quietly.

Well, this was ridiculous. Branch created a backup plan while he followed Poppy around on her quest to talk to all the village elders.

As far as anyone could remember there were no other trolls. However, there was a time before the troll tree, before Bergentown, when their ancestors lived scattered. Old relics hidden in the woods here and there testified so, mostly stone ones. Stone was not a material trolls used much anymore – too permanent.

Branch felt at a loss. Most of their history had disappeared with Trollstice, songs and stories snapped up. His people had been caged and isolated from the outside world.

The outside was coming to them, now.

Branch folded an arm over his chest and pushed his free hand into his cheek. Every now and then an unusual troll was born. There were the twins, Harper, Biggie, Legsly. Branch would have assumed the cherub was one of those rarities except for one factor: Cooper. Now he believed Cooper meant it when he said he'd come from somewhere else.

There were other trolls out there.

More trolls meant more bergens. Did those bergens eat people? His thoughts spiraled. He slipped away to prepare the bunker's emergency shelter.

Before, he would've stayed at the bunker. Now he felt safer near everyone else because that's where he could defend them from. This time when they got attacked, he'd be there. This time it would be different.

~ ~ ~

The next day Branch went with the others to visit the cherub. The troll's concussion was bad enough he couldn't talk. Dr. Moonbloom said the damage could be permanent, but over time he might be able to relearn some or all speech.

The troll sat up on the hospital cot, aware and coordinated enough for them to try and figure out his name. Poppy went around their circle of friends and named each one, then indicated to the cherub. He nodded, winced, and put a hand to his forehead for a minute. His sleepy eyes were unfocused or closed much of the time. Branch really had no idea what kind of person they were dealing with considering the effects of the injury.

After some thought, the teen formed his hair into the shape of a hollow triangle, with one strand creating a mallet.

"Triangle?" Poppy said. The golden troll shook his head, switched to a harp, and brushed a hand over the strings.

Every set of ears in the room perked up. The sound was unlike any harp Branch had heard. Rich, full, and glorious. Like an angel's.

"Harp? Music? Strings? Playing?" the others started guessing. The troll switched back to the triangle and swung the mallet at it.

"Ohhhh. He means the sound it makes," Guy said. "Ting."

Ting. The troll's name was Ting.

"Ting, do you know where your home is from here?" Poppy asked.

At this, Ting looked confused, or maybe concerned. His mouth drew in a thin line.

"Well, in that case, welcome to Troll Village," Poppy said with jovial spirit. "Home of the biggest, loudest, and craziest parties ever. And also the happiest place in the forest," she bragged in that perky manner of hers.

She didn't say it loud, but Ting rubbed his forehead nonetheless, a bit of a weak smile on his face and pinched powder blue eyebrows. Bashful? Or was he in pain? Poppy was so much better at reading trolls. Ugh.

Ting remade the hair harp and played broken snippets of wonderful music.

"Not like any song I've heard," Suki said.

"Does he want a jam session, perhaps?" Guy asked. He threaded together a white harp and started playing the chorus from _Last Dance_.

Ting looked absolutely baffled. Then, with terrifying skill, he fashioned his hair into a cello and bow. Over top of Guy's music he swept out more bits of melody.

At this point Smidge took out her castanets, Cooper his harmonica, and Suki her flower stereo. All of them joined in. It sounded bizarre. Ting seemed to find it funny. He put his instrument away and shook his head with a smile. His wings flicked rapidly, drawing everyone's attention and reminding them what an unusual visitor they had.

Branch and Poppy escorted Ting to Cooper's mushroom house. Every tiny thing along the way enthralled the cherub. It was as if he'd never seen a pod before. Of course, after a few minutes he closed his eyes and put his hands to his ears, overwhelmed with a headache.

"It'd really help if he could talk," Poppy said after they dropped Ting off.

"I didn't used to talk, and look what you did to me," Branch said.

Poppy swung their linked hands harder, a saucy grin on her lips. "I didn't do a thing to you. You chose this all on your own."

"Best choice I ever made."

She laughed. Beautiful, shimmering Poppy laugh. "How am I supposed to resist your silver tongue?"

"Maybe… don't."

Poppy's lashes dropped. "Oooo. Then if a queen may be so bold."

She swung around him, grabbed his vest with both hands, and drew him into a hot kiss in full view of everyone.

"I love you too," he mumbled after she was finished, dragging him along by the hand again.

The way things were going, if she showed up for bedtime snuggles tonight it would get interesting. At home his ears were so well-tuned for the key in the lock he nearly had a heart attack when a fallen leaf crinkled over the roof.

~ ~ ~

Maybe it was because of all the excitement surrounding Ting over the next few days, but the trolls were playing especially hard. Poppy might have put them up to it as a distraction.

During a perimeter check Keith leapt out of a bush and tapped a hand on his arm. "Tag! You're it!"

Everyone in proximity scattered, but not before Branch caught hot pink out of his peripheral vision. She'd somersaulted over a mushroom headed toward the market.

This was it.

Today was the day.

Branch launched himself into the troll tree, tore over the boughs, jumped off the edge and hooked his hair over the swirly slide. He spiraled down and let go, flinging into tree bark, digging his fingers into the raw fury of the wood. He looked over his shoulder to spot the target.

Oh yes, victory would be his.

The gleeful laughter of fleeing trolls sang his backtrack. He could've picked off any one of them. He didn't want them. He wanted her. Their leader. The queen.

He bounced off market vendor canopies and raced over roofs, feet never touching the ground. Muscles coiled and released with each stride. He was death from above.

Poppy sped up when he thudded down behind her. She cast a quick look back, to be sure he was there. To see if he was still pursuing her.

"You're never gonna catch me Branch!"

This time, he didn't waste his breath.

She ran at top speed now. She'd go for the woods. She always did. But this time the distance between them was too small for her to escape. The gap shrank. Heat radiated off him. Beads of sweat.

"No hair tags! No hair tags!" she screamed, sensing her inevitable demise to It. Him.

He had her.

The queen put on a burst of speed beyond her limit. She shot into the woods and he followed hot on her tail. Leaves lashed his body between glimpses of pink. Her green hair tried to blend in. Couldn't hide that skin though. Couldn't hide her flavor, not from him.

He was in his element. Heated breaths puffed from his mouth, his mind filling with scents of soil and woody shade. Dirt and moss churned beneath his strength. The pounding thunder of each stride rolled out between silence of swift leaps, his eyes never leaving the ultimate prize.

She was gone.

So was Branch. He was an instinct. He was The Wild.

He stood there like all the times before, except now he was quiet. No fits, no grumbles, no movement at all. Stillness. He felt the moss underfoot and tasted the air. He waited.

Then, he took a step. Cush. Another step. Ca-cush. That sound, more than one foot. He followed it. He circled the tree and his quarry matched his moves. She was there, on the other side. Always on the other side.

So he set a trap.

His hair walked away while he, the forest shade, moved in absolute silence. She wouldn't even know he was there. There she was, hand against the trunk, her back to him, listening to him leave. Oh, but he'd never left.

The grin was eating his face.

He let her hear that last step.

His arms were around her, tight and unforgiving while she thrashed and made lots of noise. He buckled his back so she lifted off the ground, and he was walking, her legs pummeling uselessly against him. She laughed like a madwoman, like a troll who'd never been caught in her entire life, and begged him to put her down. He didn't think so. He'd won fair and square. She was his, now. This fit of giggles squirming against him. Pride swelled in his chest and beamed in a huge smile.

Fluffy pink hair tickled his sides. He dropped her, she pounced, and they rolled down the hillside in the shadowed wood, both laughing, one on top of the other rolling over and over, absolute sheer joy, a tumble of ecstasy. With a paff they landed at the bottom. She hovered over him in a radiant mess of fluff and freckles. They panted, looking into each other's eyes, breathless.

The mood flared.

They were locked in a desperate kiss, the sound of heavy breathing tangled and tied up together. Her hands pushed through fuzz under his vest as if she'd been waiting a lifetime to touch him. Her body melded over top of his and she burned hot wet kisses into the side of his neck, the noise of her affections flickering fire against his ears. All the heat was rising, rising, needy and sensitive in one spot. There was no way she didn't feel it, and she stayed. He couldn't think. He wanted her. His hands flowed over delicious curves as he drowned.

Pleasant tingling at the top of his head suddenly became a rush of sensation. Her hair wound with his and he could feel all of it, a river of silk pouring through him. The caress may as well have been on bare skin. Impossible.

"I can f–feel that."

Poppy tightened the spiral.

His body arched into hers of its own volition. He groaned and pressed his head into the ground, hard. "I thought hair sense was a trollmance myth."

Poppy's voice purred low and husky. "So you're the one who checked out _Kisses and Cuddles._ I wanted to read it."

"I could spoil it for you."

Before she could respond he clenched his hair hold at the base of the spiral and rifled that circle all the way up, fast. Her breath escaped in an uncontrolled puff. She collapsed on top of him with a shaky moan.

That sound, coming from her.

Branch rolled Poppy over.

He threaded his hair in and out of hers. He flicked and teased. He pushed all of his strands in so they were one connected stream. He brushed her hair with the tip of his, stroking from the bottom to the top, feeling smooth on smooth, a supple massage. He watched her enraptured beautiful face while he experimented, her closed eyes and slightly parted lips. The little noises she made were driving him wild. He wanted to please her. To pleasure her.

He pressed himself close with her favorite type of full, succulent kiss while he did what seemed to excite her most: swirling his hair around hers and pushing the bottom loop up until their hair lay straight. Swirl, push. Over and over again.

She was trying not to moan into his mouth and she was rubbing against him, jolts of electricity and smoldering desire, and he was probably moving too, and if he didn't stop this was going to end in a hot mess right here right now.

Through sheer force of will he lifted himself off her. What was happening? Was this… they'd almost… oh, cupcakes. His buzzed and now somewhat anxious mind tried to figure out the situation. Hair sparkles were everywhere. Dirt and moss, the base of a hill. They were completely out in the open. How did they even get here? Ah, right.

Branch looked down at Poppy. Her flushed face looked as hot as his felt.

"You're it," he panted.

There. He finally got to say it.

Visits to each other's homes stopped after that. They both knew what was going to happen the next time they were alone. Tensions were high.

~ ~ ~

Hug time! The trolls shouted the phrase. Poppy put a hand to her hip and raked her gaze over him. He folded his arms and watched her, hard and steady. They continued to size each other up. All of the other trolls finished.

"Oh my gah, are you two going to hug or what?" Smidge said.

Poppy didn't take her eyes off Branch as she said, "Guy, could I get a hug?"

The glitter troll was happy to do so. Over a silver shoulder Poppy stared at Branch. He said, "Suki, I was a little distracted. Help a troll out?"

Guy's voice was strained. "Poppy... you're squeezing a little too hard…"

Branch maintained eye contact with Poppy and gave her a sly smile. He relaxed into Suki's hug. Firm and soft.

"Woah, dude, since when did your hugs get so good?" Suki asked.

"Po...ppy…" Guy was dying.

~ ~ ~

The pillow harvest came incredibly early, perhaps because they'd destroyed nearly the whole crop last time in a pillow war. Branch had just spotted the perfect pillow meant for him, the one that called his name, when a luxurious hug wrapped him up from behind.

"Here, let me get that for you," Poppy purred over his shoulder.

Her hair flowed forth and plucked his pillow from the tree. She stepped back, pillow in hand, and made no motion to give it to him. Everyone was watching. He turned to face her.

"Good thing the same pillow didn't pick both of us this time," Poppy said. "We'd have to sleep together."

"A real shame."

Their eyes locked. He took a corner of the pillow and lightly pulled. Poppy pulled back. He tilted his head and raised an eyebrow while he tried to take the pillow. She resisted, gaze half-lidded. Back and forth, the pillow between them. Her tongue moistened her lips. A lazy exhale came from his slightly open mouth, inviting.

Poppy held his gaze while she rammed the pillow to his chest.

"Unf," he rumbled low, biting his lip.

"Oh my gah!" Smidge complained with a hand to her forehead, this being the third incident between him and Poppy today.

~ ~ ~

The next day, at the ice cream stand. Coincidental craving.

"Poppy."

"Branch."

"You wanted an ice cream too?" he asked. "What flavor?"

She looked at him. "Mint chocolate chip. Three scoops."

"Strawberry, with a cherry on top," he added to the order without looking at the troll behind the counter.

They got their cones. They didn't move.

Poppy dragged her tongue all the way up the teal treat, slow and deliberate. She watched him while she did it. She sucked up melty bits at the top with little kisses, soft fluted lips working their way around the crest. "Mmm."

How delightful.

He pressed his lips to the top of his scoop, closing his eyes and enjoying a few nibbles while his nose pushed at the cherry. Then he lapped the strawberry delight's side, flicking his eyes up at her. Long, languid strokes. He slid his tongue under the cherry and brought inside his mouth, rolling it around a bit before swallowing. He spit the stem out the side.

"OH MY GAH!' Smidge shouted angrily in the background.

"Maybe you should try some of mine," Poppy told Branch in a sultry tone.

"I'd love to taste yours."

With a catty grin she slipped a finger along the melting side of her dessert. She offered him a taste. Didn't think he'd do it in public.

Branch held her wrist steady as he brought a kiss to the tip of her finger. Then he dropped a hair privacy screen and slipped the entirety in. He made her feel every bit of wet heat as he pushed his tongue against her skin, licked and sucked it clean. When he was finished her finger came out with a pop. He recalled his hair.

"Delicious," he said. "The ice cream was pretty good too."

Then he walked away.

~ ~ ~

Another day, hug time again, and they circled, circled each other, not sure who was going to do what to whom. Not sure what the trick was going to be. No hugs. Going around and around, staring. How long had it been?

"Poppy, can I talk to you for a second?" Chenille asked.

"Branch, a word, if I may?" Guy Diamond said in the opposite direction.

Branch and Poppy backed away from each other, holding visual contact for as long as possible. When the distance was finally too great, Branch let out an enormous sigh. A rush of air he'd held in for far too long.

"It's okay to be nervous you know," Guy said.

"Wha—at?" Branch chuckled, eyes flicked to the side, one hand pushing through the back of his hair. "I'm not nervous."

"Ahh, but if that were the case, these entertaining little events wouldn't be happening."

Branch stared at the ground because Guy spoke the truth. And if he had to guess, Poppy was nervous too, otherwise they wouldn't be stuck in this stalemate.

"You know," Guy said, "you don't have to go all the way right out of the gate. You can teach each other what feels good first. No need to do everything in one day."

"Can't believe we're talking about this," Branch muttered.

"Afraid of a little guy talk?"

"...no."

"Good! So, what's bothering you?"

Branch put a hand over his face, because there was no way this exceedingly embarrassing conversation was going to happen otherwise. "I'm terrified I'll hurt her. I can't handle it if I do."

"All the more reason to go slow. You can't just shove it in."

"GUY! REALLY?!" Branch squawked.

"You're an attentive troll. If things get uncomfortable you'll know, and you'll stop. Simple."

Branch groaned into both hands. Sure, it sounded simple. In practice? He had no idea.

"Branch, you'll be fine! This isn't a smutty trollmance rushing to the main event. A bit of diamond advice: don't even bother with that part yet. There are so many other ways to make love. Take your time. Explore. That's what you've been doing until now, isn't it? The next part isn't any different."

By the end of Guy talk – which included such phrases as "it's about rhythm, not speed or strength" and "thrusting alone doesn't cut a dance floor" – Branch was nothing but a mortified blush, a burning lavender berry. Even his hair started to turn. In this state Guy pushed him back towards the open field.

"Now please," Guy said, "for the love of all that is trolly, _please_ go back to the hand holding and kissing because any more of these sexual tension charades and you'll shred Smidge's vocal chords."

Branch stood facing Poppy. She was scarlet.

"Next time, you talk to Guy," Branch said.

"Gladly. Remember you said that, because you're getting Chenille instead."

Branch looked at the way Poppy's bangs curled in on themselves, wrapped into tightly coiled circles. The tips were flushed violet.

"Better make sure there won't be a next time," he said.

"Does that mean you want to, um…?"

"I do, but let's maybe work our way up to it."

Poppy brightened. "Sounds good to me."

"I miss you," he said, because he did. "Can I come over tonight?"

She wrapped him up in a snuggly hug. "You already know the answer to that."

They spent their usual comfortable evening together in the pod that shared both their colors.

And if the leaf curtain went up early, if his vest ended up on the floor, if she asked for a massage and discovered it was better on bare skin, if one touch led to another, well, that was nobody's business but their own.

~ ~ ~

Poppy woke to a gratifying view of Branch beside her in bed, only this time naked shoulders peeped above the covers. He'd been too comfortable to put pajamas on after last night's massage and the relaxed exploration that followed. He'd fallen asleep facing up.

Now that she knew how soft and fuzzy he was pretty much everywhere, the sight of bare skin was irresistible. She reached over to rub circles over his chest. The thicker flocking in that spot fascinated her.

"Hrmmm," Branch mumbled pleasantly, not quite awake but trying to reciprocate her actions anyway. Fingers drifted over and nudged against her tummy, looking for a hand to hold.

Oh, so that's the kind of morning it was? With a warm grin Poppy slid a leg over Branch and sat straddling him. A dopey smile spread over his face; he sighed contentedly and his ears relaxed. He was so cute.

Sleepy Branch seemed oblivious to the fact this happened naked. This early he'd be agreeable to the point of being funny.

"Will you be queen today?"

"Mmkay."

"Can I have a unicorn?"

"Mmhm."

"I think I have a crush on you."

"Sss nice." He wiggled under her, getting comfy. Thick fingers caressed drowsy circles over her legs. He'd sleep in today.

Or he would have, if she hadn't leaned down with kisses and plans for more.

When they finally got out of bed Branch rolled up the leaf curtain while Poppy rushed her morning routine to make up for the delay. Then she gathered supplies out of the wall cubbies for today's meetings. It was only when she went to put them on the "table" in the center of the room she realized something.

Branch noticed her staring while he finished smoothing a clean flower quilt over the round bed. He was trying to be helpful by making it ready, but…

He blinked. "What?"

Poppy looked at the bed and tried to picture it as the friendly communal space it'd always been. Instead her thoughts filled with all the good times cuddling and kissing Branch there. She thought about last night, and this morning.

She thought about tonight.

"We need a real table."

In the end the bed went against the far wall and they borrowed the kitchen table. Branch picked up a card that'd appeared on the floor at some point. "What's thi—"

Glitter sprayed over his scrunched face. He groaned and handed her the musical card. _Put Your Hair Up, Yeah!_ played while Branch scrubbed his fuzz. She read through the note under the popup ?! surprise marks.

"Suki's having a surprise party next week. Nothing big, just us and the gang."

"New song?"

"Probably."

Suki did not play her latest mix at the party, though. She parted her hair to show what she'd been up to.

It was an egg.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are no music strings in this world. World Tour canon doesn't apply.
> 
> [TheBroppyTrain](https://www.instagram.com/thebroppytrain/) made some art for this chapter! Fair warning it's a little spicy (but not too much). The link ONLY works if you're signed in to Instagram. <https://www.instagram.com/p/CEop2paFD5H/>


	31. Little Bug

"WHAT?!" The whole group of friends roared.

Suki closed her hair, tucking the egg back into protection and warmth. "Yeah, sorry I didn't say anything sooner. I was kinda nervous, y'know? I've been having such a great time with my niece it really made me want one of my own."

The flood of hugs, congratulations, offers to help, and questions began.

"Are you really going to be okay doing this on your own?" Guy asked.

"I totally got this. I have my sister, and I've been spending tons of time at Gia's nursery. I know it's gonna be a big time suck, but I'm cool with that. I just wanna apologize in advance for any mood swings or weird cravings. Or I guess, uh, lack of cravings. Not sure my usual ones can get any weirder."

"Suki, this is amazing. How long have you had it?" Poppy asked.

"Eh, only a few days. It'll be a while. If they're anything like me they'll take their sweet time."

Poppy felt Branch slip a hand over hers, which left her with only one to wildly gesticulate with. "We have to celebrate this! What kind of party do you want?"

"A loud one."

Judging from the volume of the cheers, that would be easy. Branch was silent. A rare display of not groaning aloud, for him.

"What about Ting?" He asked on the way home later, concerned a loud event might hurt the recovering troll.

"Don't worry, he'll be fine. The party's a personal one for Suki. It won't be the whole village kind of crazy."

The winged troll was still blowing her mind. It meant there were other trolls, and that brought up so many questions about where they were and what they were like, how amazing it would be to trade holidays, songs, and decorations.

Out of nowhere Branch thrust an arm in front of her, tense. "Did you hear that?"

She froze in sync with him. "What? No. I didn't hear anything." Poppy relaxed. Branch had been a little jumpy lately.

"Shhh. Listen."

Indistinct conversation from a group further down the tree sparkled with laughter. The sudden sizzle of roasted mushrooms added to a barbecue chased a savory scent. More talking. Hum of a passing flyer bug. Wind shuffled through leaves, carrying with it… something. Faded notes she didn't recognize split between all the other noises.

"What's that music?" she asked. Branch took a few cautious steps forward.

Certain that music couldn't hurt anybody, Poppy followed the sound down the tree, Branch tailing carefully behind. The notes became clear piano strokes. The closer they got, the more trolls had their heads turned to the source. Only two pianos existed, and this one came from the well-loved, carefully maintained grand behind the curtain on the village's performance stage.

Sadness and desperation dripped from the solitary instrument. Who in the world could be so sad it sank into their music? And why… why did it sound so familiar? She got the impression of a lonely thundercloud wandering lost with no other around. Poppy hurried to the forest floor. The song cut off abruptly but she knew where to go.

The curtain along the large circular stage remained closed. Poppy skirted to the side entrance. Behind the thick drapery Cooper stood alone on stage, upright with a keytar in his hands, the unoccupied piano in front of him. That couldn't have been his playing, couldn't have been.

"Cooper, what…" she cut off, rounding the piano.

Ting sat on the piano bench. Wings of pastel blue hair stretched to reach keys too large for a troll his stature. His eyes were closed, scrunched with another headache.

"He really wanted to see all my instruments," Cooper said in awe. "My keytar didn't have enough keys so we came here."

"Ting…?" Branch asked, coming to Poppy's side, attention flicking through the darker areas backstage.

Hearing their voices Ting turned to look and opened his eyes. His weary smile brightened with determination. Again, he focused on the piano and played. More complex chords than any troll would've been capable of came from the controlled hair strands. No matter the emotion, Ting still smiled and his colors held steady.

"He's like a teen prodigy," Branch whispered.

"Why is it so sad?" Poppy asked.

There was more to it than simple melancholy though. Wild, frantic notes called within the melody. Poppy's skin prickled. She felt like she was supposed to do something. But what? The song wanted her to act. Ting looked over his shoulder. She saw the smile but also beyond it to the concern within. He was trying to communicate. It was important.

She shook her head. "I don't understand. Oh, uh, how about paper! Writing, can you write?"

Ting stopped playing. He flitted over and took the paper and pencil she offered, scratched out five lines, and started writing. When he flipped the page back to her it contained barless music with no time signature. The gold troll made a sound like a sigh and dropped onto Cooper's back. His wings fell still. The concussion was getting to him again.

Poppy read the finely scribed sheet. It might've been a melody but there were artful shapes mixed in. Annotations of some kind? Accidentals she didn't know? Half tones?

"Poppy…" Branch said, peering over her shoulder. "What if Ting can't talk?"

"That's what Dr. Moonbloom said. He might have to learn again."

"No. I mean, what if he can't talk with words?"

"What if he talks with music?" Cooper finished.

~ ~ ~

Each day Ting explored Troll Village a little further. He was overwhelmed but also extremely curious in a focused, inquisitive kind of way. He always flew unless a headache or a bout of dullness struck, in which case he'd lounge on Cooper's back against his long neck as if it were a tree. The two were together almost all the time.

Poppy had known Cooper forever, so it didn't even register in her mind how different he was. Seeing her fluffy friend alongside a set of wings, though, made the difference apparent. The pair turned heads wherever they went.

It was quickly obvious Ting knew nothing about life here. At all.

Suki raised her palm in the air. She held it there, waiting. Nothing happened. Branch couldn't stop laughing.

"He doesn't know what a high five is," Branch snickered. "This is amazing."

Poppy rolled her eyes. "Branch, show a little common decency. Please."

He ignored her, very much enjoying the fact there was a troll society with no high fives. Eventually Suki slapped her own palm. "Dang. I feel so rejected. Harsh, man. Though I don't think you mean it."

Ting smiled apologetically. He didn't understand. In fact, he couldn't understand anything any troll said. Nor could he read. And his drawings were, well...

Harper looked at the paper, its series of squiggles and shapes, and rubbed her chin. "I've got nothing. It's abstract. The best I could do is guess its meaning."

None of this was because of the concussion. Ting could talk. He spoke with instruments and wrote in scores of music. Laughter for him involved rapid wing flicking. He understood the tone of a troll's voice, what type of mood they were in, and the trolls understood the feeling of his music. Apart from that all words were lost. Ting's stay in Troll Village could be a long one.

On occasion he flew above the treetops, but whatever he saw wasn't enough to tell him where he was. He didn't try to point out home.

~ ~ ~

Poppy brought the stack of scrapbooks to Cooper's mushroom house. Even after two weeks Ting's head still bothered him, and he'd spent a fair number of those days gray.

Pieces of felt and paper piled neatly in rows on the wildly colored mushroom table where Ting crafted. Several scrapbooks spread open around him. He flipped pages back and forth for reference on how to cut and layer things.

Cooper said, "Every day it's a different craft with him. He really wants to talk to us, but I can't understand his music. I mean, I know a few words, like "fun," and "water," but that's about it. Our conversations are not complicated, haha!"

Due to headaches Ting could only focus for short bursts, and he put all of them towards studying the village and trying to say… something.

He was trying to say something.

Poppy paced in front of the fun dungeon while scrapbooking the mystery. One of Branch's birds brought Ting here. They'd been attacked on the way? No. The crow wasn't from this forest. It must've chased them from Ting's home. Hm. But the bird was so black, and Ting was so bright and colorful...

Branch's excited breathlessness lifted her from the thought stream. "Poppy! Poppy!" He had her hand, too. Where were they going? "I think you'll like this," he said.

He was right.

"Aww! They're so _cute_!" She fawned over the adorable baby flyer bugs. The leaf-looking shell on their backs was too big for their little round bodies, giving the impression of leaves scurrying in the sweetgrass. Bright, beady eyes and fluffy antennae examined the world. One of the babies tested a real leaf with a foot a few times, leaping back in astonishment when it crinkled.

Poppy sat and the little ones gathered around. It was rare to see them so small! They didn't stay this way long. One of the braver bugs let her pick it up when she wiggled a finger to get its attention. It peeped in delight when she brushed its shell and she put it in her lap.

"Of course you'd let _her_ pick them up," Branch told the father. The zigzag bug was settled by the babies while her royal flyer stood further away on guard duty.

Poppy noticed one leaf shell quiet and unmoving at the father's side. "What's wrong with that one?" she asked, concerned.

"Can you keep the others distracted?"

Poppy entertained the bugs with her hair. Branch got down on his stomach and extended an arm along the grass to hold out the biggest honeyflower blossom she'd ever seen. For a while nothing happened. Then, slowly, the lonely leaf rose from the ground. Shiny eyes peeped out from beneath the shell and poofy antennae unfurled.

One cautious step at a time the baby made its way over to Branch. It felt the petals with antennae, placed a foot on the flower, and then, realizing it was safe, started to fully explore the blossom. It bumbled in and out like a bee, flipped the flower over, pressed it down, picked it up and fluffed it out. The bug was so invested in its new toy it didn't pay any attention when Branch shifted to a sitting position.

"Thanks," he said. "I couldn't get him to come out on my own."

Branch sat peacefully in the sweetgrass and watched the bug play with the honeyflower at his feet. That's all Poppy's world was as the moment. The man she loved, his gentle expression, and the little bug.

He said, "I know we talked about it before, but do you still want kids?"

So he was thinking about that? Poppy grinned. "Do you still 'maybe' want them?"

Branch didn't respond to the jab. Oh. He was being serious about this. He'd turned away so she couldn't read his face, too.

She said, "I do, eventually. We have to fix my heart first."

Never mind nothing they'd tried worked.

Never mind that.

Branch still wouldn't look at her. His fingers curled up. "What if we can't fix it?"

"It'll work out. We're not in a rush. There must be lots of different ways to grow a heart flower we haven't thought of yet. I… there has to be a way... to…" she trailed off. She knew. She knew they might be short a rainbow and a cupcake here.

She asked quietly, "Do you think I should give up?" and dreaded the response. She didn't want to hear it, but this was one of those things only Branch would be willing to say aloud. If he said it maybe she could accept the reality.

"That's not what I mean," he said. "I'm trying to make a backup plan. I know you want to see the bright side here, but it's getting difficult for me. So please. What if the only heart we have to wish on is mine?"

That.

She hadn't thought about that, honestly.

Or any of this, because she wasn't ready. She figured it'd happen when it happened. But now it _was_ happening. Branch was asking her to think about it _now._ And the longer she took the more he wilted.

She blurted her immediate thought. "Then I feel left out."

Branch's spirit died. His ears tilted down and the fluffy ends of his hair drooped.

She was on her feet, the sudden motion sending all the baby bugs skittering back to dad, who stood up abruptly at her unexpected movement. All the magic was gone.

"Nononono Branch," she said. "Urgh, just give me a second to think, okay? I didn't expect to discuss specifics so soon."

"It wasn't specific," he grumbled dejectedly. "I hoped… never mind."

He wanted her to say yes, unconditionally they'd have a family, but she'd always, ALWAYS pictured being a part of that equation. She _did_ feel left out. No couple did this. Not being able to join your heart with your partner's and wish for a child together? That was so lonely. And they'd never see their family colors combine. And just, well, just, everything! Would the trolling even feel like hers? Wait.

Wait.

Facts. Facts were going to help her figure this out. The situation was very simple.

She loved Branch. They wanted a family together. That was it.

She loved all the kids in the village, loved the trolls, loved her people, so even if it was purely Branch's child, that feeling would be the same. Duh, Poppy.

And she pictured it.

She pictured her and Branch, collecting the egg from its blossom, keeping it warm, trading off who cared for it each day. Cuddling up at night with their hair intertwined. Feeling the first movements when the egg responded to music or song. Finding out whether the trolling was going to shatter the shell or carefully crack their way out. What color the tiny, strong hands were when they wrapped around her finger. The look on Branch's face when he held life itself. Her and Branch at home raising their little one, realizing they'd gotten themselves into another adventure.

How silly.

How silly of her to think it mattered at all whose egg it was.

They could ask any troll in the village to wish on their heart for a child she and Branch could raise. It would still be their trolling together, the one they put to bed every night and woke up to every morning. The one they taught everything they could. The memories they made would be no different. She was still going to bury her head under a pillow and laugh the first time their kid tried to play an instrument and it sounded like a strangled duck, and Branch would have this worried look as the "music" happened, thinking it might sound so bad forever, they were terrible parents, this was a terrible idea, etc.

She was sitting beside Branch in the sweetgrass, leaning against him. She wasn't going to deprive him of physical affection while she considered his tough but important question, especially when her initial reaction emotionally crushed him. He could be sensitive about the most surprising things. Who would've guessed he'd want kids? He'd been so solitary and temperamental before.

"Sorry, you surprised me," she said. "I honestly hadn't thought about it. I'm not ready yet and want to spend time with you, but if it comes down to it, we'll go with your backup plan. We can use your heart. It's okay if we don't have mine too."

A breeze ruffled the grass. The newborn flyer bugs were back out, everything having settled down while she thought. Her royal bug brought over a petal with a big drop of nectar on it. The babies gathered around to eat.

Branch hadn't moved.

He took a shaky breath.

"Branch, what's wrong? Oh… oh no…"

His eyes were squeezed shut, tears welling at the corners. One rolled down his cheek. Her heart wrenched at the dark trails of those already shed in silence. Deep creases and pinched eyebrows, a wobbly mouth struggling to hold it all in. She'd never seen Branch cry before, not like this.

His voice was weak, a strained whisper under shuddering breaths. "I didn't think you'd say yes."

Her heart throbbed. She wrapped her arms around him and then looped her hair over their bodies. She held him, feeling the unsteady hitch of his breathing. "I love you," she said. "All I want is for us to have a happy life together. I've wanted that from the beginning, even when we were friends; you know that. And it's also true for any kids."

Branch buried his face in her, and for a while, he just quietly cried. She held him and thought about how much she loved him.

After some time his breathing evened out. His voice was still strained with raw emotion. "I should've guessed you'd do that: not think about it. But really, with Legsly and Suki and Ting and you coming home one night talking about bergen babies, and Zigs and Lifesaver here, and it never even crossed your mind about us?"

She smiled. "Well excuse me if I've been a little distracted by what 'us' has been doing every night."

She waited for the snappy comeback.

"Glad to hear it's good for you too," he said dryly.

There it was.

She let go of him and rolled in the grass, looking up at the clouds. Branch lay down and rested his head on her stomach. She idly played with his hair.

"Alright," she said. "You asked your big question. Now I get one."

"Why not," he sighed.

"Thoughts on marriage?"

She heard him snort. "Do you really need to ask at this point?"

"You bet."

"One day of altogether too much glitter for a lifetime of happiness. Yeah, let me get back to you on that one."

She rolled her eyes. "Hey, I was serious for your question."

"I'd marry you."

Soft tresses of cerulean hair slid through her fingers while she daydreamed about how to propose. They watched white puffs swim through blue skies and listened to ruffles of critters tumbling in the grass. Poppy had a scrapbook club meeting and Branch was supposed to be helping Smidge clear some deadfall, yet here they were.

At length he said, "What do you want for dinner tonight?"

"Triple carbonara pasta with minced mushrooms and greens, toasted rosemary garlic bread, crushed redberry salad, and a selection of fine cheeses."

Branch froze solid. Poppy managed to hold her breath for two seconds before she started snickering and then couldn't control the outburst of laughter at his expense.

"I regret ever introducing you to sarcasm," he said.

"There's yesterday's leftovers. How about we eat those and relax?"

But Branch was getting up and he had that horrible salty spark in his eyes.

"Wait, you're not actually going to make that, are you? Branch, where are you going? Branch!"

~ ~ ~

He hadn't made a huge mistake.

He hadn't screwed up royally.

He was going to need this after all.

The deep green plant sprouted long leaves at the base like a tulip. Its thick stem curved under the weight of the red, heart-shaped bud on the end. When it bloomed the petals would split and curl upward, and the heart inside would be his.

Awesome. Fantastic. Wonderful. He went up the troll tree.

She'd scared the sprinkles off him with that first remark about feeling left out. Wow that was a sting he did not see coming. He'd planned for rejection of course, but the moment of vaulting insecurity had been unbearable anyway. All his hopes for the future killed in an instant.

"I don't know what you're cooking in there Branch, but it smells amazing!" Smidge's shout carried through the window.

Everything going on and she hadn't been thinking about what might happen if they only had one heart between them. Why? Because she was enjoying spending time with him _that_ much. And then she'd said yes after, what, fifteen minutes? Yes to doing things the less fun, not normal troll way. She ripped his dream from the grave and shoved it back into his soul. Then she'd asked about getting married. The nerve of her, really. How infuriatingly Poppy.

Scaring him like that.

Branch dumped pasta into boiling water and raged at the bowl of eggs with a whisk. A chopped storm of vegetables heaped over a cutting board on the counter.

Did she have any idea how much he loved her?

He slapped butter over the bread and coated it in a mixture of fresh pressed garlic, cheese, and rosemary.

Seriously.

He crushed the redberries, squeezing their juices and skins into a thick, tangy salad dressing. Swirls of red spiraled over succulent mixed greens.

Leftovers. Please.

The cheeses were already sliced and plated in a neat arrangement. Candles. Flowers. Light music in the background. This was the most beautifully passive aggressive thing he'd ever done.

He relished every minute of it.

Branch put on the pinecone hair flair and the new occasion clothes he'd been saving: long navy pants, blue vest dipped in green. He slipped suede ties into the vest's openings and closed it up. Poppy could take it off for him later. He couldn't be expected to do _everything_ around here.

He waited for the sound of the door. Yes, the door. One of his greatest accomplishments was the door the queen asked him to install on her pod. It even had a lock. All he had to do was lean here and wait for it to open.

"Welcome home," he said to the deliciously shocked freckled face.

"You didn't."

"I did," he said smoothly, crossing the room, "exactly what you asked for. Word. For. Word." His hands ran down her arms, a caress.

Poppy shifted. He heard the lock click.

Well, then.

~ ~ ~

Poppy was curled around him. Normally she didn't fall asleep like this, but last night had been. Ah. Enthusiastic.

He enjoyed the fact she hadn't rolled over to the other side of the bed after nighttime cuddles. She was warm, and her arm draped over his chest. Definitely going to fall asleep again. Mmm.

Somewhere in the indeterminate haze of dream and consciousness a knock sounded on the door. Branch ignored it.

Knock.

Seriously, who knocked like that? Only once? Too weak to be Smidge and too strong to be Milton. That left every other troll in the village.

Knock.

The annoying sound was interrupting snuggle time. Branch growled, untangling himself from Poppy. He blearily dug out a robe from the closet and went to take care of this so he could go back to bed. He rubbed his eyes, opened the door, and suddenly felt more awake.

"Creek?"

"Good morning Branch. Is Poppy up yet? We have a bit of a situation."

"And what might that be?"

"All of the money in Trollberg went missing. And, ah, a lot of the food too."


	32. Poppy or Creek

Poppy watched Creek leave the pod after the unsettling discussion. Branch closed the door. He stood, palm on the door, facing it, for a long while. Tense.

"I'll get ready to go," he said.

"I'm coming with you."

"No. I want you to stay here."

"Branch, I'm the queen. I have to make sure everyone is alright."

"I can do that for you," he snipped. He got dressed and combed through an impressive frazzled mane. "First the money, now the money and food; how long until it's one of us? Stay in the village where it's safe."

Poppy huffed. "We can talk to the bergens. They'll help us figure out what happened."

"I don't trust them."

"How can you say that? They're our friends!"

"No, Gristle and Bridget are our friends. How many other bergens do you know? Let me guess: seven, maybe eight?"

"Eighty-two."

Branch was taken aback by that. He went quiet for a moment. Then he regained his footing. "Well that's still not all of them," he insisted, afterwards mumbling, "as impressive as that number is. As you are."

The praise diffused the argument. She sighed and plopped down on the bed, watching him collect items throughout the pod with swift determination. "What's your plan?"

"Bait. I'm going to catch who's doing this. Then I'm going to find out why." He took her hands. She hadn't seen Branch this worked up in ages. His grip was a little too tight, his expression cast with a stunning mix of seriousness and love. "Promise me you'll stay here. Something's not right. The bunker's there if you need it."

"What do you think is going to happen?"

"I don't know. That's what bothers me."

"Okay. No promises but I'll keep the party going here for now. Message me if you need anything, okay?"

He brushed a hand down her cheek, holding her steady with those deep eyes. "I love you."

The kiss was passionate, and he breathed "I love you with all my heart," somewhere in there. Then he pulled away and looked over his shoulder before leaving the pod. The door drifted closed with a click.

He made it feel like goodbye.

Branch was giving Guy Diamond heavy competition in the drama department. Poppy shook her head with a smile and got started on the fun for the day, trying not to think about how empty it would be without her sweet, intense partner.

~ ~ ~

One of the two flyer bugs carried Creek. Branch saddled up on the other.

He was going into bergen territory with a troll who'd been influenced by bergens in the past. He couldn't overlook that. If Creek's life was on the line, this could very well be a trap. Creek had been living with the bergens long enough to form an intricate plot. Except for pranks trolls were terrible schemers, but Creek was a snake cunning enough to draw the whole village out of hiding with Poppy's cowbell.

Branch didn't trust him. Maybe they'd developed a tolerance of each other but it counted for nothing in a life or death situation. He'd have to be careful with any words so he didn't give the enemy potentially useful intel.

"You're awfully quiet, mate." Creek said on the journey.

"Long night."

Creek laughed. "Sure it was."

Branch could feel his old scowl returning. He focused on the sky, unwilling to ruin yesterday with a Creek argument. He wanted to ditch the other troll, secure Trollberg, and return home to Poppy as quickly as possible.

This time Creek's voice was soft, difficult to hear over the flyer bugs. "Is she… doing alright?"

"What do you mean?" Branch growled through his teeth.

"I, um. I think you know by now. Her heart."

"Is gone. We'll manage." Branch shut the conversation down.

Creek's ears drooped and he remained mercifully silent the rest of the trip. Branch bristled anyway. If Creek was trying to get at the queen for some reason, tough. He'd have to go through Branch first. If Creek was being a typical troll who still cared about Poppy, also tough. The damage he'd caused was done. Now it was none of his business.

Branch expected Creek to go away. Instead, the clod followed him around Trollberg, maybe to spy. Maybe to whatever.

Branch went first to the money storage area at the base of the tree, looking for bergen tracks and fingerprints. There were none. Next: troll tracks. Plenty of those. Impossible to tell if any of them belonged to the… thief? The goods weren't shared, they were stolen. Yeah. Thief.

He folded his arms. There were no signs of critters, so animals were not responsible for this. No bergen footprints flattened the grass either. Prints should still be visible. Unless Creek was lying that the disappearance occurred overnight.

The community pantry wasn't picked clean but it was depleted. What use would a troll or bergen have for all that food? Branch looked around the stockpiles, unwanted magenta shadow tagging along.

"Why are you still here?" Branch asked, taking note of which food types were missing. Everything that kept well was gone. Refrigerated and fast expiring goods were mostly untouched.

"Because," Creek said calmly, "this is my home and I've an interest in restoring the balance."

"Then could you restore the balance somewhere not so close? You always do that. You always have to be right where I need to be. Personal space. It starts here," Branch drew a circle with his hair that was larger than necessary, "and ends here."

Creek didn't move. His expression was one of, what, bland irritation? It was oddly blank, lacking the prideful glee whenever he successfully humiliated Branch.

Creek said nothing and stared.

Branch managed to keep his voice even. "What?"

"I'm not at liberty to say."

He held the leash on his temper, squeezing his eyes shut and pinching the bridge of his nose. "Just say it."

"This is why I hoped Poppy would come with you. She doesn't automatically assume the worst about people."

That stung. Creek was always so good at twisting the knife. "I don't trust you," Branch said aloud.

"I can see that. It is making working together rather difficult. Is there anything I can do to gain your trust?"

He didn't even need to consider it. "No."

For the first time ever, Creek stepped outside of Branch's large circle of personal space. "Then I will continue to do what I can on my own. I hope it is enough, because I sense there is something very wrong here."

Nothing could have been more disturbing than hearing his own thoughts come out of Creek's mouth.

It haunted Branch all day. He left his gear in the pod prepared for him, made it look like he was still there, and snuck out to go speak with Gristle. When he got to the castle it was crowded with petitioners. A very long line to meet the king spanned the hallways. The requests were urgent, related to needing places to stay. Branch backed off.

Something was wrong.

He scouted Bergentown's restaurant strip for suspicious behavior and signs of the missing food. There were more bergens than ever before. The colorful ones, was that due to happiness?

Something was wrong.

He surveyed Trollberg for unusual activity. His people dug in the treasure garden, played games, lounged at the spa, experimented with music that was smooth, quiet, and relaxing. Most of the trolls in Trollberg were occupied, though, with Creek. Branch watched Creek organize groups of trolls to sing and dance with the plants. It would speed up growth and bring a faster harvest to resupply the lost community pantry foods. Branch checked it off his mental to-do list. He stared at the empty hollow where the money had been.

Something was wrong.

Poppy was at home with a winged troll.

Finally the sense of unease became too much.

Branch holed himself up in the vacation pod with a blackboard and did what he did best. He created an insane conspiracy theory. Poisonous crows, angels, colorful bergens, ancient stone troll relics, and stolen goods scrawled in multicolored chalk with interconnected lines. Notes in tiny lettering crammed every available space, some of them sideways. It looked like the workings of a madman. It sounded psychotic. He figured it was at least 60% accurate.

The events in Trollberg and Ting's crash landing must be linked. The key was the bergens. Branch wasn't going to have any luck with them; most of what he knew was about the old society. This new bergen culture, who would understand what was going on? Poppy.

Creek.

Branch could ask Poppy to come here. They'd snuggle and try to figure this out together. Then he would wake up in the morning and find out she'd run off to troll-knows-where to do hair-knows-what. Sing at the enemy. Dance with the enemy. Hug them.

Or Creek.

Poppy would be at his side. She'd be right here in the middle of the danger with him. Poppy in the war zone, throwing herself in harm's way to protect her people, or the bergens, or a cute critter.

Or... Creek.

Poppy or Creek.

Branch put a hand on the pod wall, leaned into it, and cursed.

"Frosting-covered cupcake-eating hair-loving firework-fizzling son of a sparkler."

He got creative.

"Hot melted black jelly bean ice cream. Songless, off-key, miserable foot stomper. Unhappy, razor-fuzzed fuss face. Swizzlestraws and spider squash. This is just sugar-sprinkling superb."

Branch went to talk to Creek, knowing the smarmy little snot would rub this in his face for the rest of his life, if not longer.

~ ~ ~

All of this information necessitated a talk with Gristle later. Creek continued to lecture about the second bergen language, political disharmony, and their giant neighbors' budding relationship with happiness. "On their journey of self discovery, many of my bergen pupils began to regain their colors. Inner peace paves the way to happiness. Sound familiar, mmm?"

"Yoga and meditation were the solution all along. Who knew." Branch's dry remark went over Creek's head, who took the barb as a compliment instead. Creek stopped in front of a storage hollow in the tree trunk.

"Ah, here we are. All the finger painting supplies a troll could ask for."

"Great. I'm also going to need rope. A lot of it."

"Sure thing, mate."

"I'm not your mate."

Creek put a hand over his heart. "You wound me."

Ugh.

The Trollberg trolls used a local variety of vine for construction. Creek helped him carry coils of it to a wide, flat space on the ground where it'd be easy to work. Branch cut medium lengths of vine and lay them in a grid.

Creek's arrogant chortle cut through the quiet village atmosphere. "You can't be serious. You really think you can catch a bergen?"

Branch shot a glare before pulling the crown knot tight. "No." He slid the bunched vine in his hand over to create the next intersection. Before he could get into a rhythm Creek stepped closer to the work area.

"I've always been a bit curious. Show me how you tie those."

He sighed. Anything to get the guy out of his hair. "Vertical vine goes on top. Make a U under it with the bottom vine like this..." Branch demonstrated the final S shape and how to pull the vines through to finish.

Creek rolled up the next rung on the net and started a new row. "Like this?"

"Last strand has to go through, not over. See?"

By the third attempt Creek figured it out. His ties were clumsy but functional. Creek fiddled with the recent knot trying to get it tight. "How many nets are you making today?"

"Six."

"Right. And I assume it's not simply for fun."

"It never was."

Creek went to the vine roll and unraveled a length to match the ones on Branch's net. He cut the strand off before unrolling another. Piece by piece a second grid mirroring the existing one formed. Creek began tying crown knots.

"You're helping me," Branch said without looking up.

"I'm not helping you, I'm helping me."

Doing it for personal gain made more sense. "Part of some grand plan?"

"Telling you what you expect to hear."

That earned a glance. Creek was focused on the task, a relaxed barely-smile on his face. Then again, he'd smiled while he betrayed the village too. How a troll could be at peace with a decision like that Branch would never understand. He scoffed and got back to work.

For a good while it was tranquil. Sounds of trolls talking and playing filtered through the grasses.

"What is your plan, exactly?" Creek asked.

"Confidential," Branch said. He changed the topic to keep Creek from thinking about it. "How's… Ripple is his name?"

Creek chuckled. "Oh that ended ages ago. Don't keep up with current events, do you?"

Branch tugged crisscrossed vines taught. "I don't get you. How is it alright to keep switching trolls like that?"

"You say that like I have no feelings. Not everyone's like you, Branch… obviously." Creek snuck the smug joke in. Branch rolled his eyes. "People change all the time. We stay together while it's fun and when the spark dies we move on. Sometimes it's a bit sad but it's always for the best."

"But it's not _supposed_ to be fun all the time. What's the point if you bail as soon as life gets tough?"

"So you would rather stay together even if it means being miserable forever?"

"No. I'm just saying that _maybe_ trolls shouldn't run away as soon as things aren't cupcakes and rainbows. _Maybe_ your own happy survival isn't the most important thing in the world."

"Are we talking about love or something else?"

"I don't know." Branch's frown curled with distaste. He yanked on the tethers and stewed over the past. Eventually buzzing thoughts faded into net-making. Row by row vines scraped through his palms. Evening colors flooded the skies.

"Thank you, by the way. For saving everyone," Creek said.

Branch turned an ear.

"I realize you'll never forgive me. I don't expect you to, or to understand what made me act so heartless." Quieter he added, "Honestly I hope no troll ever understands."

In the past Branch would've asked if being a selfish coward had anything to do with it. He reformed the jab to, "You had a reason other than saving your own skin?"

Creek's self-reflective facade didn't waver. Whatever his emotions he hid them well. "It doesn't matter. I made poor choices. If it weren't for you, Poppy, and Bridget, we'd all be gone."

It was the first time Creek ever truly acknowledged what happened.

"You're welcome," Branch replied quietly.

~ ~ ~

It would take a couple of mail bees, but that was fine. She had plenty of treats for them.

Poppy wrapped up the delivery in separate small leaf parcels. A salty pretzel mix, and another mix of sweet pretzels coated in three different options: chocolate, yogurt, and strawberry. A large, satisfying squish toy from the party factory. It was shaped like a… well, she wasn't sure what. A sea urchin kinda? Its thick, stubby legs stretched. They were super fun to pull and squish and – she was getting distracted. She closed up that leaf and went to the next, wrapping up Meadow's brand new illustrated book about edible plants.

Poppy knew Branch packed all the things he needed. She also knew he hadn't taken a single thing besides needs. So. One love package coming up.

A musical chime sounded at the doorway. Ting swooped through the opening and hovered politely, a scrapbook in hand.

Poppy leapt up. "Oh, did you finally finish? Let's see it!" she said, snapping open whichever scrapbook she'd grabbed from her hair. Miming actions was the easiest way to talk to Ting.

A look of determination hardened Ting's cordial expression while he presented his book. He skipped through the first few pages of paper circles and squiggles. With each turn the abstract shapes became more and more recognizable. When he stopped flipping, the trolls inside were a bit rough, but she could tell what they were.

Ting hovered, holding the book open in front of him with both hands. A powder blue lash of hair withdrew a conductor's baton and pointed at the trolls in the book. All of the cutouts were like Ting: glittery with wings. Their hair and gemstones featured metallic and pastel colors.

The next pages killed her smile.

Black. So much black. Shredded pieces of cardstock shaped like blades were everywhere, covering the scenery underneath. Winged trolls with frowning faces looked down from the only safe corner of the page. The dark shreds harassed other… trolls? Some of them sad, others lay on the page with their eyes X'ed out.

More black feathers on the next page. Dead lumps of creatures. Twisted and gnarled shapes she didn't recognize. Sunny weather contrasted with the chaos underneath it. Ting's trolls spattered scenes with frowns.

He tapped and circled the baton around gnarled alien shapes. He traced lines between those, the X eyed trolls, and the winged trolls. The baton scrambled over piles of feathers to make the motion.

Something bad. But where? Trolls were sick? Or dying?

She didn't know, didn't understand what he was trying to say. "I don't know. I don't know!" Poppy repeated, shaking her head, feeling frustration build. If only there were some way to figure out where he lived. She could help, but she had to go there to do it!

Ting kept drawing lines and circles. He made a strangled hum, flicked distressed notes over his hair, buzzed his wings, tried everything he could to communicate.

Poppy yanked a map from a pod cubby and spread it on the floor. She pointed to different places. Ting shook his head no. No to the badlands, no to the forests, no to the entire map. He couldn't read it at all. Pictures worked differently for Ting.

They couldn't understand each other. He held his scrapbook open and waved more patterns.

She shook her head. "Where should we go? Where is your home? Ting, I can't… I don't know."

In horror, Poppy watched it happen. The cherub's patient smile and worried eyebrows stayed plastered to his face while gray dulled fingertips. Fading ash seeped up his hands, his arms, spreading further. The scrapbook fell to the floor.

"Ting! No!"

Poppy hugged him, but it was no use. Flaky gray consumed the small troll. She felt the spirit go out of him.

Her desperation to find Ting's home morphed into hard rationalism. She set him on his feet since his wings weren't moving. The teen sank to his knees and sat on his heels, staring blankly at the scrapbook toppled open on the floor. Poppy remembered the feeling. She took a blanket from the closet and draped it over his shoulders.

"I'm going to find Cooper. Stay here." She didn't know how much of that he understood. Hopefully the blanket was sign enough.

Poppy's brain multitasked like a whirling pinwheel. Few trolls were qualified to lead an expedition. Tug, Meadow, Smidge, and a troll or two of their choosing could form one party. She could lead another, and Branch a third. One week out, another week back. The village would be deprived of its best leadership during that time. Her dad would have to come out of retirement for a bit.

If the bergens had known about any other trolls, they'd have been eaten by now. Poppy needed to talk to Bridget.

In the middle of the thought storm Poppy found Cooper. They raced back to her pod.

"Dang Poppy, you weren't kidding," Cooper whispered. "I've never seen him this gray."

Cooper sat beside Ting, resting fluffy fur against the desolate blanket-covered troll. Cooper folded his feet under himself and looked at her. "We all thought you were crazy when you said Branch had different shades. But I totally get it now."

Poppy picked up Ting's scrapbook. She held the dark and distressing message and wondered what, exactly, she was going to do.

~ ~ ~

Branch won time with Gristle by writing to the king in advance. He'd considered impatiently barging into the audience room, but that was a recipe for a scolding from Bridget, not to mention angering a mob of not-so-graceful giants. So, as the sun waned into dusky night and yellowed lanterns illuminated stone walls, Branch made the journey up the mountainous stairs to the throne room.

When was the last time he'd seen Gristle? The king wore clothes that fit him. Pallor of dead moss skin had warmed to healthy forest green. The color didn't match Gristle's solemn, tired expression, one that wearily perked up on Branch's entrance.

"'Sup buddy. Please tell me this is good news. I've had nothing but bad all day."

"Uh."

Gristle sighed and fell into the cushioned throne, sagging. "You too, huh?" He flicked a pizza crust crumb off the chair's arm. "Have a seat, I guess."

Gristle snapped fingers for Chad, who brought out a bejeweled podium and set it beside the king's throne. A series of troll furniture topped the podium: regal chair, fancy roundtable, windowed cabinet stocked with dishes, and a spew of cute cushions. Lots of pink, blue, and white. Poppy.

An abrupt pang of longing struck Branch. His heart wanted to be in a different place, but he had a job to do. "The new bergens in town," he said, lashing his hair through a hook at the top of the podium and pulling himself up. "They're not from around here, are they?"

"No. They're from the town north of us."

"How come I've never seen any of them before?"

At this, Gristle hesitated. "Ah. My people don't have the best reputation among bergens. Nobody gets sent to Bergentown because they want to be here. We're trying to help, but—"

"—Hold on, back up a second. What do you mean, 'get sent here?'"

The king stared over the long carpet trailing down to closed castle doors. A finger claw poked into the throne's armrest and dragged. "I don't know how to explain it in a way trolls would understand. I don't know if I should. You guys are kinda sensitive and sugary."

"And you're not?" Branch looked pointedly at the stone wall where Bridget collaged photos of her friends and the growing calendar of bergen holidays.

Gristle's brow furrowed. "Are you calling me soft? I've been getting that a lot. Oh King Gristle, so soft he let these refugees in here, giving away our food, our homes, our happiness." He snorted and waved. "These guys don't know anything about sharing! Bridget's been killing herself trying to teach them. I don't know why we bother."

"Food?" Branch spouted in the middle of this. He'd chosen not to sit. Now he paced the elevated platform.

"Yes, food. The whole reason people are coming from Orendale is because there isn't any. Livestock starving. Crops poisoned."

"Do they eat trolls?" Branch panicked.

Gristle grimaced. "No. Eating trolls isn't normal. Why do you think the kitchen had all those awful recipes? To cover up the taste."

"Oh great. Wonderful to hear cannibalism isn't in vogue outside Bergentown."

Gristle's temper frayed. "Yeah? You think I'm happy about this? My whole life I was taught the only way to be happy was to take it from someone else and stomach it. Know how my dad got his title? He took it by force. That's all we've ever known: take, take, take."

"So if I tell you someone's been stealing from Trollberg it wouldn't be a surprise."

"Nope. Not at all."

"Someone's been stealing from Trollberg."

"Figures." Gristle slid down the throne until he was a slouched mess, feet slung out over the floor. "What do you want me to do about it? The dungeon is practically full, and it's only a matter of time before the brutes out there—" he waved to the door "—start a mutiny."

That the unrest Gristle was talking about had gotten so bad was alarming. But if the thefts were because bergens desperately needed food, then… Branch shifted uncomfortably. "If they wanted to share our food and money, why didn't they ask?"

"Because it's one of my subjects stealing, not anyone from Orendale."

"So stealing is not okay in Orendale, but it is in Bergentown."

"Yes! No!" Gristle hoisted himself out of the throne and faced Branch. "My people don't know any better!"

Branch's voice went cold. "Like they didn't know any better when they ate my family."

Gristle just looked at him.

After a minute the king's mouth firmed into a hard line and he nodded a few times, anger focusing his eyes, an anger directed inward. "Bergens aren't trolls. Do you know what we do when someone commits a serious crime? We don't forgive, or try to reconcile, or sing. No. We banish them. And what happens to all those outcasts?"

Gristle turned toward a castle window to view the stacked rings of haphazard buildings outside. "They survive. Build. Take what they want, teach their kids to do the same. The lucky few born here, anyway."

Bergentown began with banished bergens left to die in the wilderness. It was a cage. A town they couldn't leave. A death sentence.

"Oh and by the way, the crime that started this whole place? Eating a troll. There weren't supposed to be any out here."

Branch sat.

The silence in the castle smothered even the crackling torchlight.

So. This whole time, if the troll tree had been in a different place, in a place Cooper or Ting was from, then none of this would have happened. Everyone would still be alive.

There wasn't anyone to blame. Who was at fault? For a long time Branch had blamed the trolls for not taking the initiative to escape sooner. Then, he'd been mad at the bergens when he discovered they did in fact have feelings. Why had no one protested the carnage?

And now here they were. Branch and Gristle inherited the problems of their parents, so, well, now it was time to do something, Branch supposed.

"You knew there were other trolls?" he asked.

"Just found out recently. Bergentown's been isolated for a long time. I never understood why my dad, or anyone, never left town. I kinda took everything for granted. Got what I wanted, never questioned." The bergen king sighed. "I'm questioning it now."

This was a lot to consider. For a while they said nothing, lost in thought.

"Alright." Branch cut into the quiet. "For now, I'll figure out who is responsible for the Trollberg theft. You decide how to deal with it. I'm pretty sure the Fun Dungeon is not going to work for a bergen."

"Tried it," Gristle mused. "Did not go well."

"After that the four of us," Branch eyed the empty queen's throne, "better have a get together and figure this out. Otherwise it's bound to keep happening."

~ ~ ~

Starless ink black sky coated the night by the time Branch leapt down the castle steps. Tired, frazzled, and lonely, he headed back to the Trollberg vacation pod. He knew it would be empty. The pop patterned blanket would be unrumpled and neat, the pillows untouched. Sleeping alone tonight. The perfect gloomy way to end this day.

There was no point in trying to deny it. He ached for Poppy. He slept better when she was there, especially when evenings ended in loving that defied description. Even stripped bare he'd never felt as safe, trusted, and desired as he did with her. And oh, sweet sugar stars, when they were connected and she laughed _he could feel it_.

It surprised him how quickly their somewhat shy and careful first attempts dissolved into euphoria, laughs, and learning. If one of them messed up the other didn't judge. If something hurt they cuddled and kissed each other through it. She knew him inside and out, from his worst to his best, and still she loved him.

Branch traversed tiled rooftops over bergen dwellings, stepping through one dim circle of street light to the next. The faint twisting in his heart hurt. His hand absently rubbed the spot. He missed her, but he knew she'd be fine, and he'd been fine, and soon they could be together again.

A collection of leaf parcels waited beside the pod doorway.

One by one, he opened reminders that Poppy knew and loved him. Each gift tugged at a deep, profound feeling that had started to build a long time ago. It was a place of calm certainty. No more fear she didn't want to be close, no more obsessive need to be together every hour, confidence they'd work through disagreements, knowledge they'd grow and change together.

This feeling. _This_ feeling. It was only going to get stronger. His mom's journal echoed in his memories.

> I don't know if there's a limit to how deep love can go. If you're reading this, find out for me, will you?

Branch wiped at his eyes, fumbling with the leaf wrap on one of the unopened parcels. Alone in the pod, he—

—wait, what was this? He turned the spiky, squishy ball around. He poked a finger into the soft center. The indentation slowly rose until it was smooth again. He slipped his hand around the wobbly legs and gave the ball a good squeeze, watching the wrinkly smush puff back up. He squeezed it again, thrilled by the firm but yielding texture. Why was this so satisfying?

Branch idly stretched the colorful nubs attached to the object, feeling the tension spring and soften. He looked around the pod while he fiddled. Erratic scrawling littered the blackboard. A curtained doorway led to a private balcony. The strange starry glows of lights throughout Bergentown peeped through leaves in the distance.

He had no idea what was out there in the world beyond their forest. But, he did know one thing.

He wanted to spend the rest of his life with Poppy.

~ ~ ~

Suki snapped at her this morning, Branch was away, Bergentown was struggling, the trolls in Ting's home were under siege, and still Poppy smiled. She kicked around in a couple of puddles, hair fluffed to keep the misty light rain from dampening the papers inside. One, in particular.

> Poppy,
> 
> In many great romances the heroes sacrifice themselves for the sake of one another. The stories always paint it as tragic, forcing one person to give up something important to their own happiness on behalf of the other.
> 
> When I'm with you I feel those stories are wrong. To me there is no sacrifice. I made changes, but I never felt like I gave up something I wasn't ready to part with. You inspired me to be my best self. I learned what I wanted out of life because of you.
> 
> I used to dream I'd find a troll who wanted to dance with me even though my colors were dim. Who'd sing, even if I couldn't bring myself to join in. Who'd care about me even if I was scared of the future. Someone interesting and confident, happy with their life as it is, but who wouldn't mind sharing it with the right troll.
> 
> I lost sight of that dream for a long time. In fact I was certain such a person didn't exist. But they do.
> 
> It's you. It's always been you.
> 
> I love you. I think I always have, even before we met.
> 
> I know now that if it did come down to a sacrifice to win your love I'd make it. I'd give sun and stars to be the troll that shares your life. If you'll have me, I have words to say that don't belong on a page. Were you planning on proposing, or should I?
> 
> Yours,  
> Branch

Poppy's hair curled protectively around the promise. Branch was the troll she'd always wanted, too. It'd just taken a lot of life adventures to find each other.

Faraway concert music trickled through the rain. Ting must be back in the band shell, conducting the marching band through the sheet music he'd written. The musicians had finally begun to grasp how to play Ting's barred sprays of notes that lived without lyrics. The sound was enchanting and powerful, a wordless strength that pulled at her heartstrings and made her feel what couldn't be said. Thunder rolled in the distance, reminding her of a time she'd been hoping for rain in a land of white and gold while music just like this—

She stopped.

The ancient, empty stone building she'd discovered. The decorative music carved into its walls was the same as Ting's handwriting. The music playing now, she'd heard it before. In the sky...

Eventually she realized Biggie was talking to her. "Poppy, goodness, are you alright? Do you need a hug?"

Water soaked her all the way through. Poppy turned and ran to her pod. She yanked the adventure scrapbook from its place. Racing down the tree and across the wet grass she slipped, careening front first into mud she didn't notice because she was already back up. The curved band shell loomed before her. Ting's golden skin sparkled with each wave of the conductor's baton.

Poppy skipped the stairs and vaulted onstage a splattered mess. Trumpets choked in surprise. She whirled around and split the scrapbook open to the page with the egg cones.

Ting's baton clattered to the floor.

~ ~ ~

Okay. Branch clapped his hands together and rubbed. That should do the trick.

They wanted money and dried goods? Come and get them.

He lashed his hair around the tips of a fern and strode up to the troll tree. Fronds curved overhead, coming together to create a green leafy shell. Branch did a snappy about-face, plopped down, leaned against the trunk, flicked one leg over the other, and folded his hands behind his head.

Every night he staked out within earshot of the bait pile, and every night that bait pile became more and more enticing. Tonight the mouthwatering aroma of freshly roasted, salted nuts wafted from the stash. It took a few days and a couple of trolls to forage that many. Branch was going to catch someone for sure – hoping at this hour it would be the thief and not a hungry insomniac.

Thoughts faded with early morning twilight. Branch dozed off in his camouflaged hiding spot.

A sharp twang jolted him awake. Wet splatter of paint balloons crushed nearby. Moving stealthily, Branch poked his fingers between two fronds and peeked through the slit.

Within seconds he stood at the foot of the net and its occupant.

What?

WHAT?!


	33. Theft

Poppy arrived in Trollberg shortly after Branch sent for her. The critter he described was hard to miss as she flew by. A paint-splattered, hulking black beetle with three thick horns on its head refused all of the offerings brought to it by curious trolls. The bizarre winged insect remained totally motionless where it was tethered to the tree.

As soon as Poppy saw Branch waiting by the spa she felt better, calmer, more centered. Being near him had that effect. She hopped off the royal bug and wasted no time in slipping her hands into his and sharing a quick kiss. Branch's thumb rubbed her palm. He looked over her shoulder.

"Ting?"

Ting popped a shrug.

Branch noticed the saddlebags on the two flyer bugs and gave Poppy a worried look that quickly tightened into stern disapproval.

"I figured out where Ting lives," she said. "I wasn't going to leave without telling you, don't worry."

His expression softened a bit. "Okay. It still scares me when I remember trying to find you out there."

Guilt made her ears sink. "Branch, I didn't mean for any of that to happen," she said sullenly. "I'm really sorry."

He gave her a thin smile. Even though the event was long behind them the memory of it remained, and it was sometimes an upsetting one. They made mistakes. They learned how to treat each other better because of it. Ting's situation was a decision she wouldn't make without Branch.

"Let's move that to agenda item number two for now," Branch said. "Knowing you, you're probably excited to meet our troublemaker." Then he added with an exasperated sigh: "Even though you _shouldn't_ be, because she's awful and giving me a lot to be paranoid about."

Poppy squealed and clapped her hands together. The trio entered the spa, passing by trolls who did double takes when they saw Ting. Inside, Creek was more than happy to show Ting around while Poppy and Branch visited the "prisoner."

Branch spun a combination into a padlock on the sauna door, clicked it open, and let Poppy in.

"Woah, sick, are you a princess or somethin'?"

"She's the queen," Branch corrected flatly, as if he'd done so dozens of times already.

The troll's name was Carol. She lounged on her back over a sauna bench, one arm dangling freely. Everything about her was sharp. Sharp ears, sharp nose, sharp widow's peak hairline, sharp thin eyebrows. Blinding lapis lazuli hair shone above dull skin. Was she unhappy? It didn't seem like it. And what was she wearing? Were those _nets_ on her legs?

Poppy glared at Branch. He put his hands up defensively. "I had nothing to do with that."

Other than the nets and paint splatters Carol looked unharmed. It was amazing she was able to lazily chill on the bench despite being cuffed up with twisty balloons. Poppy tried to suppress a grin at the lax security measure while she peered at Mr. Mastermind out of the corner of her eye.

"What? It's not like she's actively trying to escape." He sighed. "I haven't had any luck, but I figured you might so… have at it." On his way out he whispered near her ear and tickled a few fingers against her hand. "I'll stay by the door."

Poppy and Carol were left alone in the inactive sauna. With a light bounce Poppy seated herself on the short side of the L benches.

"I'm Queen Poppy, nice to meet you. Sorry if Branch's been a little prickly. He tends to act like that around people he hasn't met."

"Mmmh."

"What type of bug did you ride in on? I've never seen one like it before."

"Kampi beetle."

Poppy played her feet along the sauna's wooden floor and observed the grain. She traced a toe along a wavy pattern, waiting to see if Carol would say more about the horned bug. She didn't.

"If you're worried about the food and bergen money, it's fine. Did you get lost and need something to eat?"

Carol's dangling hand reached for a sucker out of a snack basket on the floor. She unwrapped the candy and the twisty balloons over her wrists made rubby balloon noises. Poppy gnawed the corner of her lip at the lack of response.

"It's okay to be lost. I don't know what the trolls are like where you're from, but yeah - being lost, not a problem. Happens to my friend Cooper all the time."

"Mkay," Carol mumbled through the sucker. She crossed one leg over the other and folded her hands behind her head.

"You can stay with us if you want. The more the merrier! It'll be a piece of cake to find a pod you like."

Carol's kept her eyes closed. One of her feet swayed lazily.

"Could kinda use an answer here…"

Silence. Was she paying attention at all? Poppy checked her hug watch. "Branch should be back from feeding the troll-eating tarantula spiders in half an hour. If we don't feed them they go party _crazy_ in town. Last week was a massacre."

Carol lifted her head to stare at Poppy with slightly less sleepy eyes. "Wha?..."

So she was listening. "Okay then. New plan! Is there anything _you_ want to talk about?"

Carol's head knocked back to the bench. "Don't feel like it."

"Gumdrops?" Poppy offered a stack.

"Eh."

This continued for a solid thirty minutes, each of Carol's responses more boring than the last, if she responded at all. No icebreaker known to troll kind moved her. Glitter did nothing. Not even slipping on a banana peel elicited a reaction.

The forced smile stayed plastered on Poppy's face until she exited the room and the door clicked shut. Then her composure collapsed. "Urgh! Branch, she's so frustrating! It's like she doesn't care about anything!"

"Now you see what I've been dealing with."

"Well we can't keep her locked up. If we let her go she can lead us to any friends she might have. I'm sure if we talk we can sort it out," Poppy said, on a shaky hope others would be more chatty than Carol.

Branch rubbed the back of his neck. "Yeah. About that. Already tried it. She won't move from that spot. She just sleeps there all day."

"Then why do you have her locked up?"

"I can't spy on her 24/7." Branch tapped his chin. "Hrm. I guess I could, if…"

Poppy did not need to know how Branch planned to manage bathroom breaks and avoid sleeping for the sake of good ol' fashioned paranoid surveillance. She interrupted his thoughts. "I'll think of something. We need to talk about Ting."

"But, Poppy—"

"His home is in danger."

" _Our_ home is in danger!"

Poppy quieted as the heated details of Branch's time in Trollberg poured out. His zeal drove away all the trolls in the spa, except for Creek and Ting. It was like old times, listening to Branch spout off one manic theory after the next. Foreign trolls and bergens were in cahoots to destroy Bergentown. Ting was an escaped prisoner from a city that started eating trolls. Carol came from a troll community near Orendale and she was stealing supplies to feed her kin. Etcetera.

While Branch raved and plotted details on his fingers, Poppy slid a sidelong look at Creek. He pursed his lips and gave a light shrug. Ting hovered, focused on Branch's lecture.

When Branch finished Poppy clasped her hands. She knew he was likely correct to some extent. "Are you absolutely, 100% certain about any of those theories?"

"...No," he groaned, pushing his hands through his hair with a frazzled frown. Lines around his eyes deepend. She ached to relieve the stress leeching off him, but this was neither the time nor place, and Branch wouldn't be able to let it go until they had an action plan. To make one they needed more information.

"We can crack Carol together," Poppy said to their little group. Three trolls. "Good cop - good cop - good cop."

"That doesn't even make sense."

"It'll work."

Branch relented with a groan, allowing her to pull him by the hand inside the sauna. Creek followed. But, what Poppy hadn't considered was the fourth member coming along for the ride.

As soon as Ting laid eyes upon Carol the sound of an indignant violin screeched from his instrumental hair. Branch and Poppy winced. Carol pooled into a sitting slouch. She propped her chin in her hand and observed with a bland expression.

"Don't know what you're saying little man, but everybody's been looking for you."

"He swore," Creek said.

"You can understand Ting?" Poppy asked at the same time Branch exclaimed something, pushing questions at Carol. The conversation became chaotic.

"A little. He doesn't talk much," Creek replied.

"That's because he knows we can't understand! Ting, say something!" Poppy flapped her hand like a speaking sock puppet while Branch and Creek swapped rapidfire remarks that banged off Carol. Ting's eyes flicked from troll to troll, trying to comprehend the disorganized dialogue.

"Poppy, I don't think that will work," Branch interjected, cupping over her hand puppet. Creek prompted Ting with flurried whistling noises. The golden troll's eyes widened. The small sauna dissolved into a raucous burst of interrogation and music.

"OHHHHHHH my Gods of Rock. Stop. Stop!" Carol groaned from the bench. Everyone fell quiet at her unfamiliar voice. "Do you trolls do nothing but talk? Just. Chill."

"No," Branch insisted. "We're staying right here until either I get some answers or your head explodes. Don't worry, I know plenty of songs, and these two—" his hands splayed to Poppy and Creek "—love singing and dancing. We can stay all night."

"Fine. Whatever. One troll only though."

Poppy squeezed Branch's shoulder. She took Creek and Ting outside.

~ ~ ~

The sauna door closed, leaving Branch standing in the small wooden room with his arms folded. Finally. Progress. He wondered whether he should try to control his temper but he was mildly at wits' end at this point, and he gauged Carol didn't care whether he was polite or not.

"What happened to our food?"

Carol impassively rubbed a finger in her ear. "They're dangerous you know. The bergens."

According to Gristle the other bergens were supposed to be friendly. Conflicting information clashed in Branch's brain. "How so?"

"They eat people."

Ice chilled his veins. If that was true Trollberg and Troll Village were the only safe havens. Refugees from Orendale posed a threat. But he wasn't about to take a stranger's words at face-value. He repeated his initial question. "Why take our food supplies?"

"Barb says it's to make you skip town on your own before shit hits the fan. Also we kinda needed it. Money's for buying metals. Useful stuff."

"Who's Barb?"

"Our leader."

Great. 'Our' instead of 'my' meant more than one. "Where is she now?"

Carol picked at thickly mascaraed eyelashes and examined the black smears left on her fingertips. "Place called Symphonyville. Uh. That's their conductor's grandson, by the way. Dunno his name."

Through the door Branch heard Ting's musical speech. The ominous cello hums suggested the relationship between these two foreign groups of trolls was not pleasant.

Branch figured Carol only had a few more questions before she either bored of his interrogation or realized how much she revealed with so few words. "You said everyone was looking for Ting. The gold troll in here earlier."

"His family's worried sick."

"He got attacked by birds." Branch risked playing that secret information to see Carol's reaction. She was not surprised.

"Barb's gonna be mad."

"You said she wants us to leave before… what, exactly?"

"You'll have to ask the boss lady. She keeps talkin about a holiday called Trollstice. We're supposed to save you from that."

The anniversary of the tragedy was fast approaching. "There hasn't been a Trollstice in 22 years."

Carol grumbled, "I dunno. I dunno what Barb's thinking. She's always trying to play the hero. You guys seem fine to me." She flopped her balloon-chained wrists over the L bench. " _Now_ can I take these off?"

Branch frowned, took out a pin, and popped the cuffs. Either this was all a huge misunderstanding, or Trollstice was on its way here.

"I want to talk to Barb."

Carol chuckled. "Doubt she'd want to talk to you. Pop Queen, though, different story."

Branch tried to gulp down the anxiety Carol's seemingly casual remark created. Did these new trolls really want to help, or were they after Poppy? " _Pop_ Queen?"

"You guys _are_ pop trolls, right? Look like em to me."

"There's more?"

"Yup."

~ ~ ~

It was decided. Poppy knew Branch wasn't happy with her choice. Concerned looks kept darting her way throughout the day of preparation.

"Shouldn't we take more trolls?" he asked.

"Why? We're not staying long."

"Because they could attack us, or, I dunno, take you hostage."

"Like when the party crashers singlehandedly overthrew the whole village, caught both of us and threw us in the fun dungeon _together_? We got out. And it doesn't matter. If there's a big evil troll society who wants to fight us, what are we going to do?"

"Uhhh. Fight back," he said dryly.

"With whose army?"

Branch didn't answer.

"Listen, I know you don't like it, but we need to make peace with these other trolls. You saw Ting's scrapbook. People are getting hurt and we have the power to do something about it. So if you want to stay behind and train our warriors, that's fine, but I have to go and be the diplomat I'm supposed to be."

Branch knew she was right. He knew she was. Ting needed to go home, Branch didn't trust Carol to escort him by herself, Creek was the only translator they had, and if there was going to be another Trollstice they needed to find out now - not wait for trouble to hit home.

That didn't stop Branch from being bitter and frustrated about it.

Carol's huge Kampi beetle could carry their party of five many times over (or lots of food and funds for the rock trolls), but they had to take flyer bugs as well to return home once everything was settled. Secretly Poppy already had party plans for the new trolls, but Branch didn't need to know that. Her partner was in bad enough shape as it was.

Branch paced around the night-dimmed vacation pod. The urchin stress toy stretched and squished in his hands. She could tell he'd overworked himself. His mind must be racing around the problem he wanted to fix, unable to relax. Tension lines wrinkled his brow.

"You're stressed," Poppy noted with a kiss. Branch blew out a caged sigh. Yep.

Blue hair set the toy aside while they stood in front of the balcony doors. She drew him close, fingertips resting on his hips. He pressed his forehead to hers. Hands circled her waist. For a while they stood like that, moonlight filtering through the balcony's transparent drawn curtains.

Eventually he quietly admitted the root of his worry. "I don't want anything to happen to you."

"And I want to keep you safe too," she said, tracing the profile of his cheek. "We can hide in the bunker but then we miss out on everything fun in life. Plus you _did_ say I wouldn't last two weeks down there. Sure you wanna be roomies with a stir-crazy queen?"

He whimpered, not in the mood for humor. The sound spurred a strong need to comfort him. She leaned into Branch and he followed the lead, one small step at a time backward to the bed. "Here. I'll rub your back." She teased the edges of his vest to get him to take it off.

Vestless he flopped onto the mattress and rolled to his stomach with a satisfied groan, as if he hadn't laid down for a while. A pillow cushioned his head. Poppy didn't hide her goofy grin at seeing him slip his arms under the pillow, cute teal toes curling in anticipation.

The bed sunk with her added weight. She sat beside him and folded her legs to the side so she could reach with both hands. Taut shoulderblades stuck under her fingertips. Softly she circled her palm over his upper back for a while. Tension unwound, giving her leeway to rub fingers deeper. Branch hummed an appreciative "mmm" while she kneaded.

"I missed you," he said.

"I missed you too."

The slight curl of his smile peeked against the pillow.

Delightful fuzzy skin swept under her fingertips. Whenever she did something he liked he made happy Branch noises: small chirps or hums or purrs. By now she knew many spots that'd win sounds. She scratched the center of his back and listened to the low rumble of a very pleased man. Pride swirled in her heart.

Eventually Branch became so relaxed he fell quiet, ears droopy, eyes closed. Still massaging she peeked at the melted smile on the side-turned face. So sweet. She kissed the tip of an ear and watched it flick. Then she slid to straddle his backside so she could evenly knead his shoulders.

"I got your letter," she said. "Your letters always make my day."

"And the proposal…?"

"I have something planned."

He chuckled, shifting beneath her, so she lifted enough to let him flip over. Soft eyes gazed into hers. Thick fingers brushed along her folded legs. His voice carried a hint of vulnerability. "Don't make me wait too long, okay?"

She grinned and delivered a light tease to bring back his fire. "One day for every rejected party invitation."

Branch's eyes went wide. "You counted?"

"No." She laughed. "Did you?"

He continued looking at her without responding. She internally giggled at his embarrassed reaction.

"Did you? Branch."

"Standard bunker inventory," he muttered.

"Aaaah, you kept track!" she squealed, amused, and the bed creaked with the little bounce she launched still sitting on top of him. Before Branch could speak she put a finger to his lips.

Soft…

A change in atmosphere sparked. The finger turned to a palm cupping his cheek. A teal hand trailed along her outstretched arm while her future fiancé watched her with an enchanted glow.

Hope and love quieted Poppy's voice. "Don't tell me how many," she said, leaning close enough for the next words to brush his lips. "I don't want to wait."

At least for tonight they didn't. No more waiting. Together, again.

And oh, the smile that settled on Branch's lips while they enjoyed each other's love – there was nothing more beautiful. Poppy knew she'd never see a purer form of joy than that particular smile. She dreamed to draw it out of him for many more years to come. She dreamed until a blanketed ocean of sheer bliss engulfed all rational thought.


	34. Cloudland

Poppy had a point. The more trolls that came with them, the more supplies they'd need, and the more trouble caused by inexperienced adventurers within unknown territory. _Supposedly_ they were only going to drop Ting off and come straight home. Branch believed it like he believed Cooper had eight legs.

The journey took several days but Carol proved to be uncannily able to avoid trouble. They flew past beasts as if the creatures were no more than another rock or tree. Branch kept a close eye on Creek, who agreed to the adventure with suspicious ease, and spent too much time talking with Ting in a musical conversation no one else in the group could understand.

"I hope you're not filling his head with nonsense," Branch muttered over the fire one night after everyone else had fallen asleep.

"It just so happens that I am," Creek said. "We've spent hours discussing chi and celestial alignments and the healing properties of various crystals."

Branch rolled his eyes and drawled, "Sarcasm. Oh joy."

"Whatever gives you that idea?" Creek said too cheerfully.

"I dunno. Maybe the fact that Ting is an actually intelligent person."

Creek's eyes went wide at the verbal jab. Branch tallied a victory point in his head. Trading petty insults had almost become a sport of sorts. Granted it was a sport only two trolls in the entire village seemed to want to play… or listen to.

A grumble of disapproval came from Poppy's leaf. Maybe not everyone was as asleep as he thought. Branch went back to guard duty; Creek went back to meditating. For the rest of the night crackling fire and Carol's light snores reigned supreme.

Near the end of the trip a chilling sight greeted them. They flew high over cultivated bergen farms. Diseased, dying crops plagued the ground in withered patches. On occasion critter corpses could be seen lying in the refuse. Taught, sallow skin stretched over bones.

Attention turned to the loud cawing growing ever closer. Black shapes swirled and dove in the skies. Beaks picked through desiccated crops.

"Great," Branch said, looking over the storm of crows. "Birds."

A handful of horned beetles carrying rock trolls buzzed through the birds. Two of them roped one of the screeching terrors. Feathers flew.

"That kinda got out of hand," Carol said about the crows. "Didn't know they'd kill the plants. At home they just scare the bergens off."

"They're poisonous," Branch hissed.

"Didn't know that before 'cuz we're immune."

Carol veered her beetle to the right, taking them away from the dying plantlife. On the horizon Branch spied orderly high rise buildings. They were obviously of bergen design but nothing like Bergentown. The reminder that there were more bergens made him queasy. New trolls induced enough anxiety as it was. He looked over at Poppy, who was frowning at the crow situation they were leaving behind.

Carol took them higher. Field of vision shrank to nothing but fluffy gold. Warm mist poured over the group before they puffed out from beneath the buttery yellow blanket. Awe breathed from Poppy's mouth as a long "woah."

An entire world existed above the clouds. Pear green hilltops rose and fell between cloud banks. Intricately decorated golden spires swirled. Dwellings made of smooth material with rounded curves flocked the sky. Everything piled up thicker and thicker, rising to a mountain-like peak in the center. Distant trolls flew about their business. From afar sounds of classical music flickered in snippets.

This was no village. It was a city.

Carol would go no further. Her beetle landed on the clouds as if it were solid ground. "Take the kid home. If ya got biz with Barb later we're camped out over that way." She jabbed a thumb toward the cloud edge. Out-of-place dark silhouettes peppered distant heavens. Close, but not too close.

Still. Branch judged if either side launched an attack the fighting would begin in less than fifteen minutes, not counting any speedy critters they might have.

He secured his hair to one of Trollberg's flyer bugs and tested the cloud with a foot. The puffy surface turned firm on contact. Carefully he lowered his weight down, taking a few steps before releasing the safety hairhold. The strange cushioned feeling of walking on sky unnerved him. Paranoia hounded constantly that the next step would plummet through the surface.

Poppy raced ahead, laughing, while Ting zipped back and forth trying to herd Branch faster forward. Creek strolled along like he'd been walking on air his whole sprinkling life.

In this manner they eventually made their way into Symphonyville proper. Oddly the locals were not surprised at all by their presence. Curious glances did not stop anybody from their usual activities. The flyer bugs got dropped off at a grazing spot alongside strange puff critters with black stick legs that ended in bulbed feet.

Ting had them wait at the foot of a strange contraption with five overhead wires that scrolled to the cloud mountaintop like a musical score. Small golden cabs moved up and down the rail.

"It's like a useful ferris wheel," Branch said.

"Pfff!" Poppy responded. At first he thought she was teasing him, but she did it again. "Ppfpfhf!" she blew on the bang that kept getting in her face. After more failed attempts she tried to trap it under her crown.

When the next cab arrived they stepped inside. The compartment lifted off the cloud and began moving up the rail. Poppy's face plastered to the window. A spectacular view grew the further they ascended.

Branch couldn't enjoy any of it. He sat on one of the benches and clutched his knees, willing his nervous stomach to settle. Why did the classical trolls have sky taxis if they could fly? For injured wings? For visiting foreigners? Poppy, Creek, and Ting chatted in the background but he paid no heed. The cab made several stops. They didn't get out until the peak.

The city's central spires curled at the top like the scroll end of a cello. A waterfall gushed straight down from the largest one, pooling at the base and winding its way through gold crested hills and fancy cloud marble homes.

Up here they didn't get far before cherubs crowded around. Their musical talk sparkled in excited harmony of various instruments. Branch recognized Ting's name. The sound of the triangle jingled from surprised spectators. Ting searched the crowd, buzzing to and fro.

A pair of silver and rose classical trolls zipped out of the fray and tackled Ting with a hug. His parents?

The crowd's eyes turned, then, to a golden troll coming down from the top of Symphonyville's crown spire. Black coattails and ruffled cuffs whipped with the speed of the descent. The new troll barreled into the others with a joyful whistle. The four spun in a circle, arms locked. Melodious music poured from every angle. Branch could feel his own heart lifted up by the pure sound. They were so happy.

"Awh, Branch," Poppy cooed beside him, hands over her chest while she watched. "They really missed him."

"Yeah…" Longing stirred at the sight of the family together. Three generations.

On his other side Creek hummed a contented note that matched the classical trolls' tune. Sometimes it was hard to imagine Creek could truly care about others after what he'd done, but Branch was starting to think maybe he did care, even if it was only a little.

Agh, the cheery music was getting to him. Branch shook his head.

In the excitement it seemed they'd been forgotten. He looked for an exit, part wanting to slip away and wait by the flyer bugs, but mostly unwilling to leave Poppy, who would want to stay to celebrate if not at least say goodbye. Chances of getting out of here today were slim. He didn't relish the thought of the lengthy return trip either.

"They're catching up on recent events," Creek said over the fast paced snippets shooting between Ting's family. "Apologies, it's hard to follow. Ting was helping some bergen friends leave Orendale and got caught by one of the crows before a different bird rescued him. It seems this Barb troll brought the crows here from her home territory. They've gotten worse, the others are saying."

 _Invasive species,_ Branch thought. Without any natural predators the crow population flourished. Maybe the black birds didn't care for the taste of rock troll, but the smaller classical trolls were new to them. The danger must be at least one reason no one from Symphonyville was on the battlefield.

"Ah, here comes the recognition," Creek said just before the flurried discussion halted. All attention crashed down on the three wingless travelers.

The suited troll with grandiose milk gold hair took the center of the crowd as if it were a stage. Rich velvet coated his extremely thick accent. "Thank you."

"You can talk?" Poppy blurted.

He chuckled, a baritone hue that sounded more instrument than vocals. "Little. Mostly a formality. Come, zis way, zis way."

Poppy giggled at the conductor's name, which sounded like a swarm of sweet-drunk honeybees on the buzzing wings of the classical trolls. The whizzy noise tickled Branch's ears. It translated to _Trollzart_.

Everywhere in the city Branch looked there were statues, public works of art, magnificently carved columns, and architecture straight out of a storyteller's dream. Flocks of classical trolls populated the airways. It was mind boggling. It was too much.

Poppy radiated joy, thrilled by every little thing. She bounced off to observe statues up close but she always boomeranged back to his side. It was impossible to be sour seeing her so genuinely happy. Her bad moods made him want to soothe her and her good moods were contagious.

Trollzart and Ting led them to the central spire and its wide-mouthed entrance that could easily accommodate even a caterbus. Royal purple and gold carpeting decorated shiny tiled floors. Poppy dashed into the huge lobby and spun in a circle, her gaze turned skyward.

A mural depicting trolls beyond anyone's wildest imagination spanned the domed ceiling. Winged trolls, trolls with fins, tails, tufted ears, beastlike lower bodies. Fluffy trolls, shiny trolls, some with scales and feathers and horns.

"That's us," Poppy pointed, batting at his hand while they stared at the ceiling. Depictions of pop trolls mixed in with the others.

"I would've never imagined…" Creek said quietly, standing apart while he observed the mural. He whistled something to Ting, who played back. "He says they're real."

That was as scary as it was staggering. There were so many trolls. Was each as different as Symphonyville to Troll Village?

The center of the motif depicted a massive tree whose branches arced over the dome, weaving among trolls.

"Tree of Harmony," Trollzart said. "Beautiful, no?"

"What's the tree of harmony?" Poppy asked.

Creek translated Trollzart's music. "The tree the first trolls lived in thousands of years ago."

 _Thousands_ of years? The most they'd ever been able to date back was 400. Past that, legend became indistinguishable from history. Branch gaped.

Ting's lighter sound played. Creek continued: "Ting says Troll Village is relatively new, isn't it?"

"Yeah no kidding," Poppy breathed, still admiring the ceiling motif.

"You are welcome to our home," Trollzart said. "Rest. Relax. Enjoy music. Symphonyville banquet is in," he flicked a baton and a spray of golden notes emerged, "three hours."

The conductor conversed with his grandson for a few moments. With a bow to their group and a jolly smile, Trollzart departed.

"I thought being queen was a handful. He must have a lot of help," Poppy said.

To govern a place this size? Undoubtedly.

"They have guestrooms here," Creek said. "Ting will give us a tour so we know where to find the necessities."

Past the lobby the entire structure was a hollow, egg-shaped cone. From the bottom Branch could see every floor rising up the outer shell, one ring after the other. Guardrails prevented trolls from slipping overboard into the open center. Wide, elegant spiral stairs connected each floor.

In the center of the cone a transparent elevator tube rose. The platform inside moved seemingly without any mechanical bits. It traveled with such smoothness Branch wouldn't have been aware it moved at all except for the fact a troll could see everything from inside.

He envied that. He thought he'd done a great job with the bunker lift but the starts and stops were rocky compared to this dream boat. Hmph.

After a quick look around the banquet hall and other amenities Creek paused. "I think I'd like to explore on my own for a bit if you don't mind. I'll see you at supper?"

Poppy gave two thumbs up. "Sounds like a plan."

Branch watched the swirled tip of Creek's bluegreen hair disappear around a bend. Ting would have to show the other troll his room later.

On one of the upper floors they passed a quintet of trolls with shimmering metallic skin and winged makeup around their eyes. Poppy bubbled a hello. They answered with giggles and a wave as they walked by. Animated chatter in an unknown language resumed behind them. Big world, bigger than he'd ever known.

"Branch, look!" Poppy gasped, racing to a balcony overlooking a courtyard outside. A handful of trolls with thick multicolored hair and elaborate paintings on their undressed bodies danced in the garden. Maybe they didn't have visible parts, but…

His sunshine watched, enthralled by shimmering decorated skin, toned flesh, and hips that swirled like warm honey. The dance steps were familiar yet different. Some danced fast. Others slow. Poppy assessed Branch through thickly lowered lashes. Admiring. Imagining.

"Don't get any ideas," he said.

Poppy just smiled. Hrm. Trouble. The good kind, but still trouble.

She studied him for a little longer before thoughts rapidly flipped to one of the million new topics bouncing in her brain. She leaned over the railing. "That hair looks like Suki's! Do you think they're pop trolls too? I want to go meet them!"

"Maybe after dinner? I could use a break…"

"Okay. Okay," she said, vibrating with energy.

Ting hummed as he guided them further up the curling hallway. The golden hue of his skin shone with high spirits. He stopped at a door and flashed a card in front of it. A pleasant ding rang. The cloudy curved plate in the center lit green and Ting mimed putting his hand over the dome.

"Ooh, me first," Poppy said, placing her palm on the door before Branch could think better of it. The door chimed. Branch looked at Ting, who nodded.

On his touch the plate registered his palm too. How did that work? He'd trained plants and had a mechanized security panel at home, but the way it operated was nothing like this. Mist inside the door's centerpiece swirled when Poppy waved her hand over it. The door swung inward to reveal the guestroom.

"Well," Branch said lowly. "Let's just hope our hands don't get chopped off."

"Oh, pff, yes," Poppy humored the comment. "Like I can't use my hair to wave an arm. I bet it'd still work."

Branch pictured scrapbook Poppy waving a disembodied arm like it was no big deal. "Hope our hands don't get chopped off and we also lose them," he amended.

"I'm sure if that happens Ting can reset the lock for us and key it to our noses instead."

Yep, she was at maximum optimism right now. She could not be defeated.

Branch stood beside Poppy while she spoke to Ting. Since the day the cherub crash landed Poppy had been inventing hand signals to talk to him. Their system was simple but it worked.

Confident they'd see Ting again later tonight, Poppy gave the youngster a quick hug before bounding into the guestroom. She began exploring every nook and cranny, peeking through drawers, poking buttons, examining anything new. "The furniture is our size," she chirped.

Branch shut the door, savoring the sound of a locking mechanism when it closed. Thank sprinkles for the barrier. He needed a minute or thirty of calm away from the world foreign to anything he knew, away from people. Noise from outside disappeared in the calm enclosed room.

"Branch, this is amazing! Do you know what this means?" Poppy twirled. "There's so much we can learn here. All of our history, art, music. We're not the only trolls. We're not alone. We've never been alone." Her eyes shone with such emotion that tears brimmed. She was glowing. "I can't believe it…" Bangs slanted over her eyes and she puffed them away on reflex. "Can I get a hug?"

He chuckled at the request, wrapping up his favorite ball of positivity in his arms. A soft cheek nuzzled his own.

"I love you so much right now," she sang.

"More than usual?" he replied with a dry smirk. She just laughed. That was about as long as he could hold onto Poppy before she zipped into further guestroom adventures.

Light came through an open doorway on the far wall. Branch inspected the arched opening, which lead to a private curved balcony overlooking the city. Was there a way to close the doorway? He felt around the edges. Even the walls were plush cloudy material. "Oh," he murmured.

Branch pulled the cloud material down, covering the hole. Except for the slightly blue hue of the cloud door there was no way to know it was there. He lifted the fascinating material, trying to calculate its properties. He no more able to take chunks of it than he could take a hunk of wood out of a tree.

Different light patterns flickered over the room as Poppy fiddled with a dial. Star shapes, polka dots, musical notes, and regular solid light flitted by. A second dial allowed color changes. She loved it.

"Music! I think this one's music!" Poppy toyed with a sleek panel built into the wall. She jabbed a finger into a button. Furious instrumentals exploded.

**DUN DA DA DUUUUN**

"Agh!" Branch yelled, diving for the nearest corner. He barrel rolled into a ball with his hands over his ears. "Poppy!"

"I got it I got it!" She wildly worked the device. Songs rapidfire switched. The volume jerked down to nothing.

Poppy had her hand over her heart. After a stunned silence giggles overtook her.

"Why do they even have that in there?" Branch's voice cracked squeaky like a teenager. That just made Poppy laugh harder. She flopped onto the bed.

"Oooh, wow, come here, come here." She made grabbing motions with her hands over the edge of the mattress.

She'd scared the living daylights _and_ the anxiety right out of him with that last stunt. Branch hugged his knees and mock glared at her for a second. Slowly he unwound from the corner. Poppy was still giggling in bed, reaching for him. Only at the last second did she realize what mischief he was up to.

Branch pounced.

"Ahhh, nooo!" she squealed. He feathered fingers over the bottoms of her feet. They tussled on the bed while he went after her worst ticklish spots. Poppy melted into a laughing mess under him. Their hug watches went off. "It's hug time! Hug time!" she tried to excuse as a means to escape.

"Nope, not yet." He'd gotten his hands on her tummy.

"Ahh! Branch! Ah-hah!"

Satisfied he'd won and burned off some of her energy, he quit. Poppy panted. Sparkles glittered in her hair while breathy last laughs leaked out.

"Alright. _Now_ it's hug time," he said. But instead of hugging her he just lay on top of her.

"No, Branch, ugh! Haha. You can't sleep there!" she puffed. "You can't even tell how nice the bed is like that."

"This is good. I'm happy," he said into her scrunched dress.

"You're _heavy_ , you big snuggly grump." She wiggled, so he shifted enough to make her comfortable. "Mmm," she sighed, satisfied.

They rested together for a little bit. Poppy's hands combed through his hair in relaxing strokes.

"I'm going to go look around. Do you want to stay here?" she asked, guessing correctly that he wanted to do nothing for a while.

"Stay here," he murmured in response, enjoying the fingers massaging his scalp.

Based on the welcome they'd received so far Branch honestly did not think the trolls meant any harm. He needed rest regardless. Too much stress and he'd be an ineffective Head of Security and Defense.

Poppy kissed him goodbye and went out to do Poppy stuff. He panned through tunes on the music panel, found something calming, and had alone time.

~ ~ ~

He was surveying Symphonyville from the balcony when the door clicked open. Poppy returned characteristically energized. The ability for socializing to make her less tired rather than more always seemed like a superpower to him.

"Ready to eat? I'm starving!" she said, emptying her hair on a counter. Shortly her scrapbook supplies, troll gem, and a couple of souvenirs were reorganized back into place. She checked her appearance in a massive mirror along the wall facing the bed. Her crown wouldn't sit the way she wanted since she kept adjusting it.

"Rrrgh. Stay. Just…" the usual difficult bang kept skewing over her eyes. She tucked it behind an ear and held it in place. When she let go it sprang back. The pink wisp stuck out at him like a compass.

"Branch, could you—"

He moved the bang. It stayed.

" _Thank you_ ," she said with the relief of a troll who's been battling their hair all day. "I don't understand why it's been acting up so much lately."

"Should you get it checked?"

"For what? Wanting your attention every day?"

He smiled but still felt concern. "No, I mean… it's been doing that for a while. And it's getting worse."

"Or getting better. Look at it this way: if one of us gets lost I bet I could find you using only my hair."

"I can't decide if I should be comforted by that or not."

"Either way it's fixed now! Let's go!" She peppily herded him out the door.

The dining area encompassed the entire second floor. It teemed with activity. Branch wondered if it was customary for classical trolls to eat together because he noticed plenty of families. Rather than a city-wide potluck it was more like a catered event. Some trolls specialized in preparing and serving the food while everyone else enjoyed. He felt like he was at a party, or a fancy wedding. It was strange.

Poppy adapted in the blink of an eye. She flipped two plates onto a table and magically managed to get foods from the serving trolls despite the language barrier. She won him some variety of sweet sparkling beverage in a stemmed glass.

They carried their meals off elsewhere. Poppy made a beeline for a spot where one of the painted trolls from earlier stood apart from the rest of her group.

Without knowing it Poppy acted like a social shield. As long as she was near he could be in the open without worry of being jumped by an unexpected conversation with a stranger. She did most of the talking. All he had to do was exist. It let him stay alert and observe without hassle.

Branch sipped his drink, keeping a polite ear tuned to Poppy's talk with the reggaeton trolls while he studied the dining area. Just as he thought: no rock trolls. No one looked like Carol or the others he'd seen with the crows. In fact he hadn't spotted a single person of that style in Symphonyville.

"Fancy seeing you here," Creek said, sidling up to their group as if he hadn't gone missing for a few hours.

"Does it seem strange to you that no rock trolls are here?" Branch asked directly.

"Ah, well, now that you mention it." Creek scanned the room.

"Can you ask why?"

"That might be… rather impolite."

"I don't care."

"I'm sure _you_ don't, but I'd like to keep my good graces, thank you."

Right. No one here knew anything about Creek's past. He may as well have been given a clean plate after he licked the first one and put it back. Branch shot his attention to the troll talking to Poppy and opened his mouth to ask the darned question even if it meant getting an awkward silence. Not like hadn't gotten them before.

Creek saw what he was about to do and choked down the sip he'd just taken. "W—ait. Wait. Just… let me handle this, mate."

Guess Creek didn't want to be associated with Branch making a social ruckus after all.

The magenta troll put on his most irritatingly charming aura and snuck into Poppy's conversation like a pro. She introduced Creek to her new friends.

Branch realized as he listened that both Poppy and Creek were somehow teasing information out of the conversation without anyone noticing that was what they were doing. Of course Poppy was genuinely interested in learning about new people, while Creek always seemed to have a motivation for his actions. Branch could do little more than watch while the two effortlessly talked, laughed, and charmed their way into yet another troll's heart.

"We come on vacation here once in a while," Tresillo said in a lilting accent. "I love my home but the jungle is not safe for trolls sin diseños." He tapped triangular markings on his arm.

"I must admit I'm seeing Symphonyville for the first time," Creek said. "I was surprised by all the trolls camping outside; it must be a popular vacation spot."

"Ah mi amigo that's not what you think," Tresillo said reluctantly. "They are here on business."

"Business like what?" Branch said.

"Bergens. The rock trolls and bergens - son enemigos."

"But… why?" Creek asked with such convincing innocence that Branch had to suppress a snort.

"I dunno. I've never met a bergen. Our nearest neighbors are Salsa and Chaabi. Everything past that es desierto. Sand."

"I thought bergens and trolls were friends," Poppy said, echoing the information Gristle had given Branch earlier.

"Me too, señora Poppy."

"Oye Tresito, you know that's not the only reason they're out there," a lady troll said, honing in on their conversation.

"Don't mind Tambora. She loves gossip," Tresillo said with a grin that earned him a punch in the shoulder.

"They're also looking for the lost tribe," Tambora finished.

"Really." Creek feigned like he even knew what the lost tribe was.

"Yeah I know. A little loco coco if you ask me," Tresillo said.

And just like that the conversation guided itself back to pleasant topics. Afterwards Poppy said goodbye with promises to meet again some day. Then she looked around with intent. They'd yet to see Ting or his family this evening.

"Shoot," she said. "I think we missed them. And I don't even know where to look."

"Poppy," Branch said low enough for only her to hear. "Do you think maybe Barb is harassing the bergens on purpose?"

"...Yeah."

It made sense. The supplies Carol had hijacked from Trollberg undermined the fragile trust Poppy and Bridget had managed to build between their people. The crows were introduced for a reason. Only thing that didn't add up was why. If bergens and trolls were friends out here, then why?

"Are we the lost tribe?" Creek mused aloud. "Rather ironic."

"Everyone else here seems to know each other," Branch said.

"They think we're from Poptopia. That's where the others live," Creek said. Clearly he'd done some schmoozing of his own.

"Let's try again tomorrow," Poppy said. "I want to talk to Ting or Trollzart before we meet with Barb."

 _Meet with Barb._ He knew it. He knew this was going to happen. Branch closed his eyes and slowly shook his head. Always getting dragged into these crazy excursions. Honestly Symphonyville politics were none of their business. Yet if Barb was looking for all the pop trolls back home, then maybe it kinda was.

After supper Poppy bid Creek goodnight before they went back to their room.

Branch unlocked the door with his palm. Once inside he stood in the center of the suite and rubbed his arm, waiting to see what Poppy's response would be in private. She didn't say anything, taking her crown off and picking pajamas out of her travel case. His move first.

"I know you don't want to hear this, but we should go home tomorrow."

"And we will. After we talk to Barb."

"...Do we have to?"

"Yes we have to," she said gently. "Carol thought there was still a Trollstice. That's bad. Like, really bad. I think they're trying to help us and going about it all the wrong way. I don't want Gristle or Bridget or anyone else hurt over this."

Branch scrolled toothpaste over his toothbrush. He didn't think he could dissuade her. What could he do?

"What are you thinking?" she asked.

"About how to convince you to come home with me."

The sound of a brush through hair smoothed over the pause. Maybe she wanted to give in and agree just to make him happy. In the end she wasn't going to. "I like it when you come with me," Poppy said. "You don't have to though. Do you at least feel a little bit safe here?"

"A little," he said through a mouthful of toothpaste slosh. He spat into the sink.

"It's okay if you wait here while I go see Barb. I'll try to keep it short, but you know I lose track of time when I get excited." She could be gone for 30 minutes or 4 hours.

"I'm going with you," Branch insisted. He didn't want her to sneak away to handle it on her own.

He turned what he thought were taps in what was probably a shower. Freezing cold water sprayed over his arm. He yelped.

"Left is cold, right is hot," Poppy called.

He adjusted the temperature. For days they'd journeyed without comforts of home. Inviting water shimmered while he folded up his clothes on the counter. He glanced to the open bathroom door. Open invitation. "Did you want to shower too?"

A sly pink expression peeked around the bathroom corner. Less than a second later he had a happy roommate. Poppy never rejected a request to bathe together. It sparked an idea.

With a smug grin Branch folded his arms and leaned his shoulder against the cloud wall. Even though it was pointless he tried bribing her. "Instead of talking to the rock trolls I could give you a hair massage."

Poppy eyed him while she undressed. She loved hair massages.

He raised his eyebrows. "Two? Maybe a foot rub instead? Or both. I'll rub your feet every night next week while you read in bed."

She made a frustrated growly noise she only ever made when he teased her. "Bribing me isn't fair," she complained. "What if I say I'll brush your hair and give you a massage if you go with me?"

"Pssh, I'm going with you anyway. But if you want to up the ante I won't complain. Much." He stepped into the shower. Ugh, that felt good. He lathered his hair while Poppy slipped in behind him.

"Only you'd be able to complain about getting a massage," she joked. Velvety hands soaped his back. This was nice. His thoughts softened under the special attention.

"If I had enough days to get used to Symphonyville I might like it here," he admitted while he scrubbed at his chest and worked downward. Water streamed over his face, dripping off his nose.

"I thought so. I found an ice cream parlor and a bunch of little shops with knicknacks. There's a park nearby and a big clock tower where you can see all the machinery inside. When the hour chimes it all moves. It'd be fun for you if we had time."

Standing straight he reached behind to tease fingers over her sides. "Maybe later, for a vacation." He turned around to rinse off the soap. This brought him face to face with sparkling strawberry eyes. The smile indicated what a wonderful day she'd had.

She was impossible. He probably _would_ do anything for her.

Poppy kissed his nose before they carefully swapped spots so she could get under the water. She turned the temperature up and started on her hair while he washed her back. Sudsy water lent a fun slippery softness to the texture of her skin.

After a bit Branch got out and dried off while Poppy went through the rest of her longer routine. The far wall speckled with holes turned out to be a blow dryer, fluffing his fuzz in no time. Maybe it was there for the furred trolls in the mural? Some of them had much more hair than he did.

In pajamas he settled under the covers. A near perfect blend of firm and soft made up the cloudy mattress. When Poppy joined him he hardly felt the shift. She wasted no time in snuggling close.

"Cuddly tonight," he noted.

"I love you," she murmured against his skin. His fingers trailed unconscious patterns where he held her. Already he was drifting off to sleep, glad to be resting in a bed after the long day. Glad to be with her.

"Love you too."

~ ~ ~

Creek and Ting found them at the afternoon lunch banquet. Creek translated. "Grandpa wants to meet you. It's important. I'm coming too."

The elevator rose beyond the top floor, exiting the cone. It stopped at Symphonyville's peak. Nothing but pure atmosphere lay above.

The breathtaking view was unlike any Branch had ever experienced. He could see all the way to world's end, where sky and ground met in a soft blur. Beneath Symphonyville's cloud landscape the planet revealed itself in miniature. Dots of bergen cities scattered the map. Eventually even those were consumed by massive swaths of forest, valleys, and mountains. Details disappeared until distance haze hid them completely.

Branch felt incredibly small.

Up here each individual detail of the rock troll encampment was visible. Many black Kampi beetles sat stoically in the clouds.

"Is that a stage?" Poppy asked.

"Looks like it," Branch murmured. Tall metallic structures supported floodlights and speakers. The tiny flecks of color moving around must be trolls.

"Good morning," Trollzart sang with a flick of his baton. "Ah, afternoon." Golden bars of music twinkled and faded.

While the conductor asked about their stay Branch idly wondered how old he was. Classical trolls looked like they'd sipped from the fountain of youth. They didn't show signs of wear the way King Peppy or the other elders did.

"My grandson says your village is well hidden on the other side of the badlands."

Poppy laughed nervously. "Ah, yes. My dad picked a spot that's hard to see from above."

The comment gave Trollzart pause. He hovered, looking over the area Troll Village was hidden. "Apologies, I do not know how to ask in your language. Creek?"

The bit of music Trollzart played was short. Ting's eyes widened. Creek's gaze met Poppy and Branch as he echoed Trollzart's question. "Is it true that the bergens ate you?"

Oh.

"Yeah." Poppy admitted quietly. "It's true. Not for 20 years though."

"Mostly because they couldn't find us," Branch grumbled under his breath. He couldn't help it.

Trollzart's jolly attitude faded to a sad sigh, as if he'd confirmed a truth he wanted to avoid. For a while he didn't say anything. Then he hummed a hesitant cello drawl.

"It's hard to believe, he says," Creek translated. "But he does believe it."

No one responded into the somber mood. Ting's downcast eyes studied nothing. Trollzart folded his arms behind his back, observing the faraway rock trolls with sadness. "Will you join them?"

"Join them?" Poppy asked.

"They believe you will take their side. They've searched long to find you, trolls who may empathize with the thought bergens will harm us."

"Has… a bergen ever hurt anyone here?"

"No. Only on accident. That is why I didn't want to believe." Trollzart drifted higher. His posture hardened. "Either way the rock trolls must go."

Ting made strained sounds of protest, or explanation, but Trollzart shook his head. "It's become dangerous for us. Losing my grandson proves that."

So much for a multicultural paradise. "You're going to force them to leave?" Branch asked of the rock trolls.

"They give us no choice. It is either our side, with the bergens, or their side, without."

Conviction blazed in Poppy's eyes. "There aren't sides. We're all people."

Oh, Poppy. She truly believed that. No matter how hard she was beaten down she always came back to harmony for everyone. Even people like the bergens. Even people like Creek. She'd give second, and third, and fourth chances until it destroyed her.

But sometimes the way she spoke made him think peace might be possible. Sometimes, when he watched Poppy and Bridget laugh over the latest bergen-troll nonsense, he thought it might be possible.

"Maybe they're not like us," Poppy argued. "But they're still trolls. They just want to be happy, comfortable, and safe. That's all anyone ever wants. Even if they can't agree on the best way to get it. Even if they're total opposites."

She made up her mind. "I'm going down there to talk to them. It's the bergens they're afraid of, not us."

With that, Poppy whipped her hair around the tower peak and strolled right off the edge. She descended balconies and looped around Symphonyville spires with the aerobatics of a forest queen.

Ting clutched at his hair, flitted back and forth, then followed her. Trollzart reached out with a worried gasp but it was already too late. Creek bowed out and carefully lower himself down to go with the queen. Only Branch remained. He was not about to leave Poppy to fend for herself.

"Be back soon," he sighed before launching off the edge of the building to follow Poppy's crazy hair path.


	35. Rock and a Hard Place

The trolls must've seen them coming, because by the time they reached the edge of the encampment Carol was there to greet them.

"Hey," Carol said before guiding the way into camp.

The attitude here was totally different than Symphonyville. It almost felt like being in Suki's cluttered pod, except with more black. Trolls lounged outside of domes that looked like roly-poly bugs. Spikes decorated some of the huts. As Branch watched, one troll exited their dome, thrust a palm to the top of the doorway, and folded the entire dwelling into a compact crescent. All of the modular furniture inside could be disassembled into easily transported bundles.

"What _are_ those?" Poppy asked about the domes. She wondered aloud about a lot of what they were seeing but Carol only answered some of it.

"Tents."

Branch could feel curious stares itching into him. Everyone they passed openly watched. He got the sense they were weighing and comparing, maybe against what was expected of Poptopia pop trolls. It unnerved him.

Carol led them to the back area where the stage waited. From the ground it was clear just how massive the speaker equipment was compared to anything at home. Metal rigging and trollmade material created everything. Branch didn't see a speck of organic plantlife.

Rather than a real platform a plain of open clouds made up the stage floor. Rock trolls were everywhere, moving staging around on Kampi beetles, adjusting the set, climbing up rigging to get to spotlights. If their leader was here he had no idea which one she was.

"Yo, Carooool!" a voice with a ton of attitude called. The troll sported an intense red mohawk. She dropped a couple of cables and strutted her way across the clouds. "Sick, exactly who I needed to see. And Wing Ding too," she said with a jerk of her chin at Ting. "Bit of a bummer since I was planning a show for you guys, but, eh."

Carol nonchalantly rolled a hand in what've might been a mock formal introduction. "Barb, leader of rock," Carol drawled. "Queen Poppy, Ting, Branch, and… some other guy."

Branch snorted. Creek pleasantly said his name. Barb barely spared Creek a glance before leveling her keen stare at Branch. Eyes grazed over his unadorned hair. Upon concluding he wore no crown her attention shot back to Poppy.

Barb made her way over to the cables, Poppy following. Branch hung back a strategic distance he could watch the approaching rock trolls from. They gathered to listen. Any sign of trouble and he'd get Poppy and leave. But there was Ting to worry about too. The younger troll stayed a bit further away from Poppy and Creek… and Barb.

Barb jammed a plug into an amplifier. "Dad used to tell me stories about you guys. A missing pop offshoot. Man," she laughed. "Who would've guessed the fairy tale missing tribe was in the one place any troll with half a hair knows not to go? Bergentown? Really?"

"Yep!" Poppy beamed. "We thought _we_ were the only trolls around."

"That's wild." Barb shook her head. "Once we're done here we'll get you guys out of that hellhole. Before Trollstice. Is that what they call it?"

"Oh, we don't have that anymore. Bergens and trolls, we're friends now."

The sudden outburst of laughter from all around made Branch jump. Humor guffawed its way through the crowd. Barb pushed a toothy grin and fingered her torn ear. "Oh man, that's funny. Friends. Yeah, no, I hear ya. Feel free to hang with us until we're ready to take care of your 'friends.'"

Poppy looked from troll to troll with innocent confusion. "That wasn't a joke. We get along."

"Suuure ya do."

The misunderstanding hung awkwardly for a minute. Barb's expression dropped as she realized Poppy wasn't kidding. The rock leader snorted in disbelief. "Wait. You're serious." She frowned. "You don't really believe that, do you?"

"I know it," Poppy said in her sing-song voice.

Barb scoffed and ran a hand through her mohawk. "They've got you fooled. Carol?"

Carol slowly shook her head. "I avoided the bergens every trip. True there's no cage though."

"No cage huh. No Trollstice." Barb pondered it, folding her arms behind her back. After a moment she thrust a leg out and began strutting around the cloud. "Let me tell you how that's gonna go.

"The bergens will act all buddy buddy with you. Trolls and bergens, rockin' out, chilling, just like it's 'supposed' to be. And maybe that goes on for a while. Maybe it's cool."

Creek shrank away from Barb as she circled Poppy.

"And then," Barb said. "When your back's turned."

_SMACK_

Barb's fist pummeled into her own open palm. She held Poppy's gaze with a withering scowl before turning away.

"That's not going to happen," Poppy insisted.

Barb's moody over-the-shoulder glower was familiar to Branch. The leader looked away. Her shoulders slumped. "And here I thought the lost tribe would understand. No one else gets it. But you, you were supposed to know what it's like. Shoulda known. Shoulda known you'd take their side. I was right to send Carol in secret." She huffed. "Bergens are our _enemies_."

So familiar...

Ting buzzed angrily.

"Can it, sparkle boy." Barb looked from the cherub to Poppy. "You both put all the trolls in danger by trusting those monsters."

She wasn't wrong.

It dawned on Branch, as he watched Barb pace the cloud with thoughts stewing in her head, that he was looking at what he could have become. All the anger, loss, and fear penned up in an explosive temper. One that, rather than being soothed, had convinced all of the rock trolls to join in.

Branch saw himself at the end of that road and it was terrifying. These trolls could not be reasoned with. He moved to rejoin Poppy and drag her out of here, but as soon as he took the first step in Barb's direction the rock trolls tensed. Branch teetered on taking another step.

Poppy's politeness frayed. "Monsters? They're people just like us!"

"Is this all fun and games to you until someone gets hurt? Dude, just, help me drive the bergens away," Barb said.

"I can't let you do that."

"And I can't let you risk everyone's lives."

"It's safe. The classical trolls—"

"A bergen ate my parents!" Barb snapped with all the venom Branch had once felt. But her anger didn't turn to depression. It stayed red hot. "We trusted them, and one of them still… after all this time…" she fumed. "No one else should go through what I did. Every bergen needs to leave. Now."

"You can't judge all bergens based on the actions of one person!"

" _One?_ How many of your trolls died at their hands, huh?" When there was no answer Barb shouted. "HOW MANY?"

Poppy winced. She looked away.

Barb winced too. She hadn't meant to yell. Her voice turned soft. "That's what I thought. So unless you want to add to that number, _help us_ ," she pleaded in earnest.

Barb truly wanted their help. She'd staked all her hope that there would be one group of trolls who understood her. And Branch did, he really did, but…

It tore Poppy up to decline such a heartfelt call for aid.

"I can't. It's not right."

Barb's frustrated disappointment dipped her ears. She turned to Ting. "What about you? Change your mind yet?"

The teen sighed and shook his head. Without further ado he exited the conversation, drifting through the rock troll-lined path. Glittery gold wings passed Branch. He barely caught the flicker of hurt that passed over Barb's expression before she buried it with a few nods and more pacing.

"Alright. Alright. Cool. Guess the show's back on. Riff, be a bro and get my crystal axe." She called to the rest of her trolls, "Don't let Sparkles miss the performance. And keep the rest of the pixie stix from ruining our sweet music!"

The mood changed so quickly he never saw it coming.

In an instant every chess piece on the board cut into action. Rock troll hair reached for Ting. Branch was already there. Blue strands surged up to block the grasp. Not good. Trolls climbed aboard horned flyer beetles. If they left now it would be war.

"Wait!" he shouted. This shouldn't be happening.

Another lash of hair forced him to focus. Get everyone out.

Barb's voice carried over the crowd. "Dad used to say music has the power to change somebody's mind. Didn't believe him at first, but, heh. Turns out it can change a heart too." The rock leader collected her instrument. "Gotta be honest, it _is_ kinda creepy but don't freak out. Enough rock tunes from this guitar and you'll be better than new. Right Carol?"

Carol made a fist with two fingers out.

Even through the commotion Branch could see the guitar. More than black, deeper than ebony, it seemed to suck light into its jagged form. Midnight crystals raged from the body. Sharp gem clusters jutted out of the headstock.

Alarm strung tight in his chest. A deafening blast of music clapped his hands to his ears. Hardcore rock spun classical trolls appearing over the cloud bank backwards. That was it: the first cupcake had been thrown. They were going to fight. Air hummed with stringed instruments. Whatever Barb planned to do, Trollzart intended to stop it with whoever he could throw together on short notice.

Ting's violin screeching pierced the veil as the cherub threw off another troll. Branch shielded Ting from grasping hairs. Back to back they struggled. He couldn't see Poppy or Creek. The shadow of the crystal guitar flickered between bodies.

All too easily the bodies moved to make way for that menacing instrument. Dread clouded over Branch's adrenaline at the sight of pink in the distance. How had he drifted so far? Where was Creek?

The path to Poppy opened up like a storm surrounding the sun. Everyone got out of the way.

Everyone except Poppy.

Foreign musics clashed in a grating mismatch of loud noise. Behind him trolls battled for control. It didn't drown out the crystal guitar's powerful chords.

Branch wasn't cursing how stubborn Poppy was to still be talking to the rock leader. He wasn't mad or frustrated. He wasn't thinking at all.

The guitar's light-sucking aura grew.

Muscles surged forward.

Too far away.

He grabbed Ting. He thought he saw Poppy glance back at him, once. At supernatural speed his feet thundered over clouds. In his soul he knew it wasn't fast enough. He wasn't being pessimistic. It was pure fact. Pure calculation of this mortal coil versus the visible lightning bolt shooting for Poppy. He would not reach her in time.

He ran anyway.


	36. Traitor

Creek watched Barb aim for Poppy.

He knew what was going to happen.

_**Two and a half years ago...** _

The ground shook and Creek couldn't move. Distressed cries filled the air as a gnarled hand tore through the party. Branch was right. This whole time he'd been right.

Creek didn't remember making it to the tall grasses but he was there. Trolls he'd known his entire life ran in blind panic. Biggie was plucked from the ground as if he were nothing. It didn't feel real. Smidge bit the bergen's finger only to be forcefully flung into the pouch, the zipper jaws used as a saw to pull her off. If she screamed he couldn't hear it.

He'd never known fear like this. He could hardly think. Time unraveled in front of him like a nightmare.

Where was Branch? The chaotic gray troll was watching, Creek knew that much. A thousand and one plans for bergens. Where was he?

Pointless hope squashed under the sight of Poppy racing to get a group of children to safety. The bergen didn't care. It would take them all, every single troll. All except the selfish colorless one who'd fled underground and left them to their doom.

Creek had to be better than that. He had to move. Dread rooted him to the ground.

Trolls who'd fallen in the rush struggled to stand. They needed rescue. His legs didn't work. Move, darn you. Move!

Against all instinct Creek dashed out of hiding. He was out in the open with the stragglers. Terror screamed in his lungs. Was this courage? All he felt was horror. He ran to reach the nearest fallen troll, blind to all else. Creek lifted Amethyst to her feet and turned. Poppy peered at him from within the grass.

Poppy.

Creek felt the air shift behind him. He knew. He knew by the look in Poppy's eyes. His feet were moving but it wouldn't be enough. Sickness balled up in his stomach and shot up his throat. Grubby flaked skin clamped down on him.

No.

No.

He couldn't breathe. Soft pink hair slipped between his fingers. He begged for Poppy. His soul screamed as his grasp on her lifeline slipped.

It was over.

~ ~ ~

Darkness and greasy oiled material rubbed his skin. There was no way to know who'd been taken with him. Aside from Biggie no one spoke.

"What would Poppy do?" The gentle giant cried shakily under his breath every so often, like a mantra.

What would Poppy do? Half of her heart rested inside Creek's hair. He could almost feel it shaking, full of worry for those who'd disappeared. They'd never see her again. Would she be okay with only half a troll heart? Would it someday repair itself?

How foolish he'd been to not return it sooner. He was a coward. If only he'd stayed one, he'd still be with the others, fleeing further into the woods for a new home. Unless…

Branch.

Bitter regret crawled onto Creek's face. Not only had the gray troll failed to find any happiness, he'd abandoned everyone. The thought of the smug slug down in his lair, satisfied to be proven right at the expense of others' lives, rattled Creek's already fractured aura. Princess Poppy put so much faith in that troll – Creek had honestly started to believe in him too. He felt betrayed.

Exhale the bad energy. Again he asked himself what Poppy would do, here, now.

 _In the darkness  
_ _be not afraid_  
_the stars light the sky  
_ _to show you the way_

Creek sang. Hug watches began to work again. Colors came back. Maybe the bergens would enjoy their music enough to let them live?

But they didn't.

Creek tried to keep the others calm, to find a way out, but, in the end…

In the end the troll closest to the door always got snatched up first.

~ ~ ~

Death was supposed to be a spiritual moment. He waited for calm acceptance to blanket him, but it didn't. All he felt was panic. Darkness closed in and instead of relief, sheer terror engulfed his emotions.

He'd tried to be brave. This was his reward: a bitter end at the jaws of monsters.

He didn't want to die. He was so scared.

Creek flailed, grasping for anything. Resistance might make this a million times worse – he could be torn apart – but he couldn't control his body. Survival instinct hijacked his actions.

Abrupt light burst the nightmare. He scuffled to his knees in the slimy palm. Without dignity he begged. Anyone, everything, words came from his mouth without thought. Whatever they wanted to hear.

"But the king wants to be happy now," Chef snarled. Her looming face staked chills into Creek's heart.

"Wait! Wait! There must be some other way. I'll do anything." Sing, dance, play pretend, anything. Anything. His pulse hammered in his temples. Huge globular eyes leered at him.

King Gristle's face warped with confusion. "Is it actually talking to us? I thought they were only good for laughing and singing."

"Never mind that," Chef snapped. Chipped claws slashed for Gristle's palm but the king spun around. The world whirled.

Gristle's voice chimed, "I'm going to save this one for Trollstice! I think it might be special."

"Sire, if I could just—"

Creek was still dizzy when fuzzy fingers crammed him into a confined space. _Click_. His knees smashed into his nose. Cold metal burned at his feet. He couldn't see anything.

After a pause Chef said cheerfully, "Well then. I have a feast to prepare. I'll be seeing you very soon… sire."

It amazed Creek something happy sounding could feel so malicious. He shivered and wheezed in the tiny compartment. Pushing on the door accomplished nothing.

The discomfort ended for a brief moment when the king opened the locket to flash Creek at another bergen. He called out for help, but either they didn't hear him or they didn't care.

They didn't care.

~ ~ ~

Imprisoned. His spine burned from being curled. Dirt and dried condiment crusted his skin. Hair pinched his scalp any time he moved. He'd wrapped it around himself to find what small comfort he could.

In his entire life he'd never known pain or suffering. Was this it? It was horrible. Tears beaded his eyes and slid down his cheeks. He couldn't even move his arms enough to wipe them away. He hadn't been able to save anyone, not even himself. He was so tiny and insignificant and unimportant in the grand scheme of things. Did his actions mean anything? Did they change anything?

Light pierced the darkness. Creek tumbled stiffly out of the opening.

"Finally," Chef muttered.

The fresh air made him light headed. Disoriented, he felt a hand close around his entire body. A metallic clunk echoed in the stone room as Chef dropped a thick bar into the clips across the door.

"You and I are going to have a little chat."

They were alone in the kitchen. The cage holding his friends was gone. His voice sounded small. "Where are they?"

"Alive. Keep your word and it'll stay that way."

Twilight cast shadows on shining cookware. The locket and furred cape sat discarded on a counter. The king would notice he was missing, right? Then what?

"You may not realize this, but it is rather challenging to find quiet trolls. Especially if they sneak around underground. Your new home wouldn't happen to have any shelter like that, would it?"

Creek stared at stained pots stacked in the corner. His mind raced to talk his way out of this. "Uhm…"

"You're going to help me find them," Chef said sweetly. "There must be some way to draw them out of hiding," she mused aloud as her fist tightened around him. "Some special song or dance. Which one is it this time, mmm?"

The thin stream of air he tried to inhale cut off. His hip cracked. Couldn't breathe. He pawed at the crushing fingers. "Please…" She didn't hear. Black spots swam. Had to escape. Escape.

Impulsively he lashed his hair to the first possible thing: an overhead rack holding pots.

Silver flashed. The kitchen shears cut all but the last length of his hair off. Suddenly he could breathe. He heaved inside the steel fist. A bridge of bluegreen fibers fell useless to the floor. Hair - his hair.

A sudden void opened up in his conscious. He tried to stretch the swoop he'd been left. Nothing came. No new length, no defense, no escape. Nothing, nothing, nothing.

Pain bit his neck as Chef snatched him by the remains of his hair and dangled him in front of her face. Moist breath crashed into him. He was so close to that gaping maw he relived the trauma of blind suffocation. His fingers and toes went numb with crawling ants. Darkness closed in. Breath wouldn't come. He was dying.

"Tell me how to find them."

"I don't know. I don't know where they are!"

"I think you do. You were so eager to talk before."

Knobby fingers turned a dial on the stove. It hissed, then clicked. Blue flame puffed to life. Chef flipped a pan onto the burner. Oh, ancestors, she was going to cook him alive, or eat him alive.

He didn't want to die. The pan's black surface loomed beneath him.

"What's the secret song?" Chef crooned.

"I don't know what you're talking about!" His voice shattered to a squeak.

Hot metal rushed to meet him. He stopped short, dangling by his hair between grotesque claws. Warmth dried the air around him while the temperature ramped up. His fuzz crisped. It hurt.

"I don't know where they'd go," he whimpered. "King Peppy probably ran."

Still the temperature rose.

"They could be in Misty Meadows. By now they could be anywhere."

No matter what he said she wouldn't free him. Skin singed without leaving a mark. Pain burned into his body while he blathered. Truth. Lies. Make it stop. Please. Anything.

He jerked skyward. Involuntary trembles shook him. Under the surface his flesh continued to burn.

Chef snarled, no longer caring to disguise her ire. "I don't care _where_ they are. Tell me how to get them to come out of hiding."

"There isn't… there's no way to do that," he rasped.

Soon as he spoke she dropped him down almost to the bottom. Fire erupted over his body. Blacktop skirted just beneath his toes. Not enough to touch. Helplessly he thrashed, unable to escape the heat. Sweat beading on his flocking dripped, sizzling below. Spats of boiling water singed his pants.

Blood curdled in his veins.

"Kill me," Creek cried. Tears streamed down chapped cheeks. "Kill me. Kill me!"

Mercy, the fire stopped. Shaky breaths heaved through his chest. Torture. This was torture. He couldn't take it. He couldn't. He wanted to die. The monster sighed, muttering to herself. "Always the stubborn ones." The sickening silk voice grew loud. "Show me where they're hiding."

He couldn't. He couldn't. Cracked whimpers were all he could manage.

"I'm very good at this you know. You won't die."

Searing agony. Raw screams shredded his throat.

Pushed to madness Creek loosened his hair to greet the pan. Touching the black was all he needed. He could end this if he could just touch it.

But she'd thought of that already. He had no hair to extend. Goddess, the monster'd thought of that already. How many trolls had ended their lives in this very room? There truly was no way out.

Again and again. Each burning broke with a pause further above the pan. The second of safety made it hell. No way to predict when it'd begin once more. Hotter every time, or was that an illusion? Skin breathed fresh air. Then he scorched. Again and again. Thoughts ceased.

Suddenly everything drenched wet ice. His lungs shut like iron. No air. Shock rocked his brain. Pfuh. Hhhn.

She yanked him from the cup. Ice liquid dripped. Sandpaper air scraped his body. He dangled limply by his hair. His body twitched, aching to collapse but with nowhere to go. Gravity sucked at the marrow in his bones.

No more.

"Bell," he heard someone say.

"Louder," Chef spat. The pan came close and utter panic dominated Creek's soul.

"Ring cowbell. They'll come."

"And where can I find this cowbell?"

"Princess."

"You'll bring me this bell."

"Yes," he whispered like a broken record. "Yes… yes… yes…"

"Good."

"...yes… yes… yes…"

It ended. The burner clicked off. He'd done it.

He'd sold everyone out.

He didn't care.

Creek didn't care about anything anymore.

The bergen carelessly tossed him into the oily pouch. Darkness zipped up. He lay on his side and laughed until he cried.

He buried the world under false happiness. As a troll it was all he knew how to do, except speak truth with the savage sweetness he'd learned from the bergen who broke him.

At least some of them would live. They'd be back in the old troll tree. Back in the cage. But some of them would live.

And it was only when he heard the screams of his kin as they poured into the pot that he realized there would be no cage or troll tree this time. Ashes fell from his hair. In darkness he looked at the sparkling bits and realized it was Poppy's shattered heart.

Everyone was dead.

Everyone was dead because of him.

~ ~ ~

Creek wished to live. Now it was his curse.

For months he wandered alone. Slowly he reclaimed bits of his sanity. Often all that kept him alive was the knowledge the trolls had won.

Maybe one day he could start over. Friends might forgive him. But he knew, no matter what showed on the surface, there was one troll who never would.

Himself.

~ ~ ~

Time passed, but the memories didn't. Now here he was.

Barb aimed at Poppy and he knew it would be awful. No matter what he survived the fear of death never lessened. Terror bloomed hot in his chest.

Barb's dark crystal guitar sparked with electricity. Creek sensed the danger long before it came. He'd been here before. He recognized this horrific squeeze that blanked his mind and froze him in place. He had to move before it took hold. Further into the rock trolls he stepped back. It was safe here.

He watched Poppy accept the anger Barb intended to unleash upon her. He saw his queen's expression smooth into a smile. It was amazing, really, that she could do that. Any other troll would flee in terror.

For a second Poppy looked back at Branch, who was too far away to help. They loved each other. It didn't seem fair that this should happen to them. Life wasn't fair though.

Silver glinted off the earring in Barb's torn ear. Bergens.

Perhaps this fate was what had always been in store for him. Maybe it would come for him again and again until he accepted it. He didn't know.

If only he'd been born a river, he'd never have to make any choices. Living beings weren't granted that freedom. They had to choose. Their choices affected everyone.

So Creek chose.


	37. Ashes to Ashes

Poppy balled her fists. Barb wasn't going to change her mind.

Branch sped across the cloud. He wouldn't make it, but Poppy didn't want him to. He'd be safe this way. Whatever happened he'd be alright. It would be alright. Everything would be okay.

Barb's pick struck the strings. A metallic screech roared over a blast of jagged midnight purple energy. Poppy watched it approach as if in slow motion. Electrified violet arcs swirled around the bolt. It was beautiful, this magic that surged forth to strike her down.

The world flashed dark and ultraviolet light lit puffed cloud tops. Her field of vision became nothing but the pinpoint of white at the center of the energy beam. It grew and grew, royal purple lightning streaming from the sides.

Poppy's heightened senses picked out one small sound in that moment outside of time. A suave male voice shaking in terror, speaking to himself, not meant to be heard.

"I'm scared."

A troll's shadow broke into the light.

The full force of the blow struck Creek in the back. His hands scrunched white knuckled to his face while he stood, cowering in front of her, lightning raging against his body. She _saw_ the magenta heart pulsing beneath his skin inside his chest. It cracked.

Poppy vaulted forward to shove Creek out of the way, but weight slammed into her back and rammed her to the cloud. Breath whooshed out in a thud. Face down she wheezed, flailing her arms, fighting against the hair holding her down. She looked up at the nightmare unfolding in front of her.

Creek's inner heart shattered into a thousand gray pieces. His colors snapped off like a light. The musical surge stopped.

Slowly, the completely monotone ash troll's posture softened. He stood straight. Arms unfolded. Hands came to rest at his sides, revealing a blank expression and unfocused gray eyes. He gazed ahead at nothing. Neutral.

"Creek! Creek, look at me!" Poppy panicked from the cloud floor, desperate for acknowledgement. She couldn't sense any troll spirit in Creek all. Even at his worst Branch's gray had shades. She'd always been able to see he was still alive, inside. But this… it was soulless.

Creek had been utterly erased.

"Creek!"

The troll didn't move.

Horrified, Poppy wrenched her head around to follow the trail of hair holding her down. At the end of it Branch crouched with one arm wrapped defensively around Ting, the other flung forward to brace himself from when he pushed her down. Wide blue eyes reflected shock.

Barb's cursing in the background whipped Poppy's attention forward. Metal music continued to pour from the crystal guitar as Barb's pick sailed over the strings. Frazzled red hairs stuck from her mohawk and she huffed with the exertion of continuing the song's frantic rhythm. She paced to the left to aim at Poppy again. The instrument's barely visible glow began to brighten, slower this time.

As long as Barb had that power she wasn't going to stop.

The instant the weight holding Poppy lifted she leapt to her feet and lunged her hair at the guitar. Frosted silver hair caught hers and yanked it down, pinning it. Black tendrils from another direction looped around her wrists, and a different color her ankles. There were too many of them. She jerked against the hairhold and was met with stone resistance. These trolls, their range wasn't as far but their grip was unnaturally strong.

"Barb, stop! I'll listen to you if you just stop!"

"Sorry." It took effort for Barb to speak in short bursts. "Gotta be sure you'll listen. This is how."

Shuffling, shouting commotion broke out to Poppy's left. She strained to escape and her captors choked down on the haircuffs. Again she tried to reason with Barb, but the other leader said nothing. Music continued. Reflective glints flickered on dark crystals. The guitar's glow intensified.

If Poppy didn't do something it would be her first and then Ting. She turned to her captors. "Please," she implored. "This isn't right."

They looked away, loyal to their queen. Poppy was out of options. She yelled and threw everything she had against the bonds holding her. Muscles screamed. Teeth clenched. A grumbling roar tore from her throat. The trolls reacted quickly. The cuff on one wrist pinched and a flare of hot pain cut Poppy's resistance into a hurt screech.

"NO!" Branch roared somewhere in a melee of hair and limbs. "STOP!" At the same the troll who'd squeezed so hard cursed an apology. Other than the suddenly soft hair on Poppy's injured wrist, nothing stopped, no matter how much noise Branch made. Rock trolls tore Ting from Branch's grip. Creek just stood there, forgotten.

Everything was falling apart.

Branch's voice pierced her heart. "You're hurting them! I'll go with you! I'm the king, I'll go!" He battled uselessly against a group of trolls, trying to get closer.

"Sid! Hold boy toy down. Thanks man," Barb called over the music without breaking her focus on Poppy.

A muscular troll wrapped black hair around Branch and hoisted him midair. Branch bellowed and bit down on the troll's locks. Teal hands burst from the wrapping, clawing it away. Branch dropped expertly to the ground only to have a second troll lash at him. He caught the dusky purple strands in both hands and yanked, swinging the troll into Sid.

Branch thundered over the cloud straight for Barb, sending his hair with a whip crack at the guitar. Sid's hair twisted around his and diverted it, but Branch still ran, his hair outmaneuvering the shorter black strands. In tandem Branch and his lance of cerulean blue rocketed forward. More trolls blocked his attack, snatching at his body. He sprang backward and tore his hair out of the stranglehold with a pained yell. Broken blue and black fibers splintered the sky. Guitar crystals hummed with energy. Not much longer.

Without warning Branch changed tactics, racing to reach Poppy. He full-force kicked aside one of his assailants. The troll struggled to get up. Weaponized blue hair lashed around another troll's throat. Branch had lost his mind. She watched him use violence like a desperate growlbeast, trying to reach her, careless about who he had to hurt to do it. Poppy's insides twisted horribly. No. No. No.

Branch's face was a volcano of rage. It took several trolls to contain his wrath. A swirled sphere of red, black, and white hair consumed him. In the end, he went eerily still as tendrils snaked around until only his eyes remained. Unblinking ice cold focused exclusively on Barb. Then that too disappeared under the impenetrable wrap.

Loud music and bright purple light took over. It seemed cute compared to the darkness emanating from Branch in those last few seconds. So, so cold. Poppy was terrified of what he might do.

"At least let him see me!" she told Barb, panicked. "Branch, don't hurt anyone!"

Poppy's eyes flicked rapidly between Barb and the too-quiet prison sphere.

Nothing happened. Barb's laugh rang while she triumphantly hit the last notes. Dark crystals flared. The same chord that struck Creek crescendoed the song's climax. It was over.

The hair sphere exploded in a teal blur. With bare hands Branch grabbed the sharp crystal guitar and wrenched it off course. Midnight lighting speared his chest. He moved with such fast, planned precision that even as his aquamarine heart lit up under his skin he had the instrument in his hands. He crushed it down over his knee. Crystals shattered, blood splattered, and Branch's heart burst and died.

~ ~ ~

_Poppy,_ he thought. _I love y—_

~ ~ ~


	38. Symphonic Rock

Nobody tried to stop her when she ran for him. He stood statued. Monotone gray consumed even his hair.

"Branch, it's me! I'm here. I'm here. It's me."

She picked up one of his hands in both of hers. It was limp.

"It's me," she said, lifting his lifeless hand to her face, brushing his knuckles over her lips. He didn't look up. Didn't react. She pathetically tried to bring the hand to cup her face like he did when he wanted to make sure she was okay, and each time she gave any slack his fingers slipped away. She nuzzled her cheek into his palm and pressed it firmly there. When she let go his touch grazed her skin on the way down. The ashen arm fell to his side, swinging to a stop.

Vacant slate eyes remained pointed at his feet. Poppy followed the look to cuts in his leg where crystal chips stuck from dull skin. Black blood oozed, one bead of it sliding a trail downward. He was injured.

She plunged her hands into his hair. There was nothing inside. "Where's your first aid kit?" she repeated over and over, pushing through wiry gray strands. "Where's your first aid kit? Where's his first aid kit!"

Poppy's vision whipped back and forth. Barb had her hands in her mohawk, aghast at the destroyed guitar. Ting knelt by one of many scattered unconscious classical trolls. Hair shreds littered the clouds. Items were everywhere: a skull-decorated hair brush, spiked jewelry, snacks, a conductor's baton, sheet music.

Carol dropped a pile beside Poppy. Branch's things. On her hands and knees Poppy frantically pushed aside his red guitar, the gifts she'd given him, the pretzels, the squish toy, a love note she wrote last month. Her own sudden pathetic sob surprised her. She found the waterproof box, clicking the case open. Tweezers. She held them in front of his bleeding knee. Pitch liquid seeped from gray, dripping and staining the cloud.

Colorless. Her hand shook so badly she wouldn't be able to grasp the glass shards without making it worse.

"I'll do it," Carol said. She took the tweezers out of Poppy's hand. One by one black bloodied crystals plucked from the wound. Branch didn't make a sound. Didn't move while Poppy shakily put his belongings in his hair.

Gray again, but not like before. No time to think about that. Poppy poured distilled water over the wound, washing away blood and grit. She prepared gauze and medical tape so she didn't think about how he didn't recognize her. Fine cuts riddled his skin from breaking the hair prison. He paid no attention to those or the gashes in his leg. She wrapped gauze around the worst of it. They needed to go home. They needed to…

Another sob, at the image of him in their pod not knowing where he was, not remembering anything at all. He'd remember. He'd remember, right?

Time warped into horrific heart squeezing panic. Events passed as if she were floating outside her body.

At her feet a tattered ashen leaf fell. A slight limp marked Branch's slow stride as he walked away. He followed the rock troll holding his arm.

Barb barked orders. "Sid! Riff! Pack up. We'll start with these two and figure out what to do about the pixies later. Perk up Popshine, I'll bring him back."

What? No… Overwhelmed, Poppy half-followed Branch. "I have to take him home. He needs love, and music, and… and…"

Her mind replayed the image of his heart exploding. Thousands of glittering teal shards turned to dust. She didn't know what it meant, or how to fix it. Failed him, she'd failed him, led him into a battle they weren't prepared for. Sickening guilt brought her to a standstill as she watched the rock troll lead Branch to a horned beetle.

Branch's foot slipped stepping onto the bug. He didn't try to catch himself. His upper body collapsed against the rounded shell and slid against the black carapace without any of his usual spirit or grace. The troll guiding Branch hooked hair under his armpits and hoisted him up. They really were taking him away.

"Barb, please don't do this," Poppy begged. "The bergens are not our enemies."

Barb paused. The red in her mohawk softly dipped. "Tell that to my dad."

The leader shoved broken guitar pieces into her hair and made a running leap up the side of her steed. All around, beetles opened their wings and lifted from the clouds. Their black forms peppered the golden sky cloudscape.

The classical trolls lay defeated, the rock trolls wouldn't listen, Poppy was days from home, and those who stood by her side were gone. She'd lost. She couldn't shake the feeling that this was her fault. She should've been wiser or faster or stronger.

As queen she couldn't abandon her people to go with the only trolls who might know how to heal Branch. By now he was too far to hair grab. If she snagged the beetle, he'd fall. When would she see him again? Who would he be by then?

Was this goodbye?

Poppy, a solitary pink speck in the middle of a vast clouded world, felt the oppressive hopelessness of the situation push down on her spirit until it cried. She wanted to sink her to her knees. She wanted to turn gray. Give in to despair at the bottom of a cooking pot. Lose the will to carry on, sick and alone at the end of a journey.

By now she recognized this feeling. And maybe, if things were different, she could surrender to misery and let the hands of her dance partner guide her back up. But today she was the one still standing. Today he needed her.

Branch needed her.

Resolve flared to life. Poppy's feet began to move.

"Branch!" she called, following the beetle flying away. "I don't know if you can hear me but I hope you can. I'm still here for you Branch! I always will be, just like everyone who loves you!"

With the little time left she poured out what meant the most to him.

"Your dad didn't give up; he built the tunnels so we could escape. Your mom gave you everything she could, even when she was gone."

The gap between her and Branch diminished. She could make out the distant spread of leaves over his back.

"Your grandma saved you. And Gary will always be your brother – he didn't leave you behind. None of them did. And I won't either!"

Her stride became a trot.

"I'll find you again. I'll bring you home no matter what."

She jogged behind the flying bug, still shouting up at her partner.

"Even if you don't remember us. Even if you start over and find someone new… I… I still loved you! Even if it was for only this short time! Even if it wasn't long enough!"

From up on high Branch shifted. Slowly, he turned.

"Because I could stay with you for a lifetime! Branch, you're my family!"

The cloud ran out. Poppy halted at the precipice. She stood at the edge of heaven within the fleet of dark departing beetles. Then she withdrew, from her hair, a single instrument. On touch alone leaves and vines sprouted from the tuning pegs. The yellow ukulele came alive with the will of the woods.

She needed only one thing: to turn that beetle around. She was on fire. Everything she felt for Branch raced in pinpricks over her skin. Her fingers pierced the fretboard while the other hand picked out a sound low and thrumming. This music wasn't pure joy. It wanted. It hungered.

 _What is this feeling? Is this pretend? Is it only something I'm imagining?  
_ _This feeling, this feeling, this feeling_

Far behind her, a deep cello growled an unending angry note. Then another joined. And another. Violins rose above the foreboding hum, shrilling one threatening stroke after the next. Something was happening that couldn't be controlled. The irresistible rhythm sucked in one instrument after the next. To the side Poppy heard the clash of a hi-hat and a flurried drum roll from Riff as he defected from the swarm. Over top of it all the ukulele played.

A tidal wave of symphonic rock hit sapphire vanilla skies. Branch's beetle stopped. _All_ of the beetles stopped. Poppy's fingers bit strings while a powerful emotion raged inside. She didn't have a choice. She had to sing. It came out as a roar.

_I got something I'm ready to say to you_

Pink petals whirled from the ukulele's headstock. The bud burst into full bloom, its blades emitting a searing red glow. Still the vines continued to grow, outward, upward, curling around her hair, sprouting crescents of tiny scarlet passion flowers. And then, from below, came another light. The hot pink of her beating heart shone through her dress like a beacon among red glowing stars.

 _Even if the dream is broken  
_ _I need to be awoken  
_ _Unspoken, unspoken_

As long as she lived, the heart inside could always be brought back. Broken, but not destroyed. And she knew it was true for Branch too.

Because she could see it.

Turquoise glow lit his chest. The light pulsed in time with hers. Sparkling aquamarine dust floated up from the depths of Branch's soul: sands of passion rising into a heart-shaped hourglass.

 _I got something I'm ready to say to you  
_ _Something all our friends already know is true_

Slowly Branch's arm reached up to his hair. The red electric guitar emerged. Poppy stared him down, willing him to play. He had to play. Branch met her stare and a light in his eyes clicked on. He saw her.

Fingers racked strings with a shot of electric tang. Color flooded Branch. His voice belted the lyrics alongside hers.

_I'm gonna say that word!  
I wanna make it heard!  
_ _This unspoken Unspoken UNSPOKEN—_

Everything stopped.

In the ringing silence the last sparkling bits of Branch's heart clicked into place. Royal blue glow flared bright in sync with her scarlet. Then, over the din of an entire rock orchestra, Poppy and Branch roared the final word.

— _LOVE!_

The ukulele's flowers exploded in a shower of red sparks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I split this chapter into two parts. This scene is so intense to me it needed some separation between it and the next 3,000 words.
> 
> If you haven't seen the wonderful animatic PureHeartBat did based on this story, [it's here.](https://youtu.be/w205FkNYiM8)  
> autodidactic_squirrel did an awesome painting of the big climax [on Instagram.](https://www.instagram.com/p/CIY6Eb0FtOa/)
> 
> It's hard to express how excited I get to see art and comments and new stories inspired by this one. Picture the most excited a troll's ever been and double it? Terrifying - I know - maybe it's better you have no idea that I sometimes run around the house squeeing. Thank you so much.


	39. Unwinding

Poppy panted, listening to resonant symphony echo across clouds, suddenly aware of sweat trailing through her flocking. Gradually the forest untwisted from her body on its way back into the instrument. Bark encrusted vines softened to green fuzz. Leaves flushed to autumn colors before dusting away.

A dark horned beetle landed nearby. Teal feet skidded down the shell and landed with a paff in the clouds. The only troll in the whole world she needed right now casually slipped his guitar back into his hair. Was he alright?

All of the fear and uncertainty of the past few moments bubbled up. Dread took hold. She dashed to tackle him with a fierce hug. He caught her, rocking back on his good leg.

"Woah. Hey there Sunshine," he said with a wobbly smile. He was vibrant and breathing and hugging her back. He was fine. He was alive. Poppy squeezed him, burrowing her head in his shoulder. She didn't need words to show she was desperate for his touch. He knew.

Branch tried to get closer and jolted with a quiet hiss. He glanced down at his bandaged leg. "That's new. What happened? How long was I out?" he asked, thinking he'd been knocked unconscious.

Poppy clutched his vest. Clear as day she relived the moment. "You were colorless. I saw your heart break. Do you remember me? Do you remember us?" She asked, terrified, sinking to her knees and bringing him down in the process. Puffy white cloud enveloped their folded legs.

"My gosh, Poppy, of course I remember you," he whispered, stroking her hair, nuzzling her, wrapping her in all the warm comfort he had. The sound of his quiet soothing voice was everything right now. "Of course I remember."

"You forgot," she hiccupped into his aquamarine fuzz.

Soft lavender nose brushed over her cheek with a kiss. "For how long?"

"Minutes. Forever. I want to go home."

Poppy wanted to go home.

She broke down completely, not caring who saw or what was happening. Emotions beyond her control cascaded. All that existed was Branch and the calming circles he rubbed over her back, the gentle rocking motion, the absolute love and devotion he created on this tiny safe island in the middle of nowhere. She'd woken up from a nightmare in a bed of clouds and he was right there. It's okay. I'm here. It's okay.

Poppy cried like she'd never cried in her entire life. It was awful. Everything was horrible. But Branch was alive, and he was there, and he remembered who he was.

All she wanted was to be back in their pod with everyone safe and happy. Bergens. Trolls. But it seemed like people couldn't stop hurting each other. Maybe there never would be peace. Maybe it really was impossible. Queen Poppy disappeared, and she became only a broken girl in the arms of a troll who loved her.

Their hug watches pinged and a fresh wave of sorrow hit her at the thought of her dad. Barb didn't have one to hug anymore. Branch had barely known his. Why was everything so sad?

She couldn't stop. Pink hands curled impotently against Branch's chest while she tried to hide herself in his embrace. Eventually her breath turned to ragged sighs just because she didn't have the energy to keep crying anymore.

She was empty. She couldn't find the spirit to face the trolls. She didn't even know if she could stand. Her hair drooped weakly, brushing over her shoulders. One of Branch's hands petted soothing strokes down her back. His quiet voice was only for her. "Do you want to go back to Symphonyville?"

Poppy nodded into his chest, sniffling. She knew she was being pathetic but she honestly didn't care. She didn't even feel like talking.

Then she remembered. "Creek…"

Branch's chest bounced against her with a surprised puff. It'd slipped his mind too. Poppy dragged her face enough to the side to look.

Rock and classical trolls alike surrounded them in a wide, distant circle. Worry riddled their expressions. If Poppy had emotions she'd be embarrassed. Right now all she noticed was the gray smudge in the colorful sea, toward the back.

Branch helped her to her feet. She clung to his arm and trailed his footsteps. Trolls wordlessly parted to let them through.

Creek stood facing the cloud edge, seeing nothing. The rock troll with him backed off when they approached.

"He's still gray," Branch murmured. The music hadn't restored him.

Poppy and Branch watched the living statue. The swoop of colorless hair barely stirred in the still atmosphere. For a while they stood, looking at a troll who was no longer a troll. That could've been her. That could've been Branch. She squeezed tighter to his side.

A dying flicker caught Poppy's eye. "His bracelet…"

The tiny hug flower struggled to live. Its gray petals surged and wilted as if breathing a last breath. No happiness. No emotion at all. The vine went slack. Then, before their eyes, the plant died.

Pale petals fell.

She'd never…

She'd never seen one die.

Branch's handhold quivered. The other wrist bearing his hug watch subconsciously moved over his heart. Creek wasn't coming back. He wasn't. He… why? Why did he jump in front of her like that? Why?

At some point Poppy realized they weren't alone.

"You'll fix him?" Branch said to Barb without looking at the rock leader. His question sounded more like a statement. Barb studied the situation before letting out a long, defeated sigh.

"Can't. I needed my dad's guitar for that."

An angry ember flickered in Poppy before it died out. "But you were going to take them both."

"Well yeah. I can't leave him like this; it's my responsibility to bring 'em back up and show them the music. Just don't know how I'm gonna do it now…"

Branch inhaled. He released it. Determination. "He's coming home with us."

"You guys don't know the first thing about this."

"Then teach. Write it down. Send a troll. Whatever you want." Branch rubbed his forehead. Poppy recognized he was exhausted, but he wasn't letting anyone see it. His voice carried authority. "We have a lot to talk about," he told Barb. "Until then... I'll be escorting _my wife_ to safety."

Poppy's heart flipped so hard in her chest she almost squeaked. _My wife._ Gumdrops, it sounded amazing even if it wasn't true. Barb paled at the realization she'd misjudged "king" Branch.

Branch didn't give Barb time to think about the bluff. He wrapped his hair around Creek's waist. The colorless troll followed blindly, offering no resistance.

They left the rock camp. Poppy heard her name, not as a word, but as its musical counterpart - a happy flute flourish. Without comment Ting gathered up the tip of Creek's gray hair. He used it like a lead to guide the lost soul.

"Thanks," Branch said, letting his hair go. He relaxed enough for stress to show up on his face. Creases around his eyes furrowed and the laugh lines he'd been earning deepened. Lime green and lemon yellow bled through the black stained gauze on his leg. His limp became more pronounced.

"Branch…"

Slowly but doggedly he kept going.

They walked through the clouds to the sound of nothing. On one side the rock camp sat noiseless, on the other Symphonyville waited quietly. It felt like the world had stopped and all the trolls disappeared.

The trek took forever. In the city classical trolls looked anxiously toward the horizon, or hid in their homes. Ting spoke music of reassurance.

The cherub helped the three of them get back to the top of the mountain, ascend the tower, and reach their room. Branch put his hand on the cloud lock. The insides swirled and the door clicked open.

Ting hovered outside, holding Creek's hair. Branch waved him in. The two males situated Creek on the balcony. He just stood there, looking out over the city. Poppy knew he wasn't really seeing any of it. A carved slab of stone held more presence than he did.

He felt dead.

Poppy sat on the bed and stared at the floor. The others would get scared when they saw him. Would he have friends anymore? Who would take care of him? She put her hands to her face. Dreary thoughts dripped to the classical and rock trolls strewn on the clouds. Her fault. She was the queen; she was supposed to make things better.

The door clicked shut. Branch sat beside her, touching. He kept his head turned to the balcony, his ears slowly sinking. They'd left as four and come back one less.

Her fault.

It was so quiet. So songless.

Finally Branch looked at her. Tears beaded the corners of his eyes. "I thought I might lose you."

He was as shaken as she was and only now did it come to the surface. Poppy desperately hugged him. They clung to each other. Branch squeezed harder as his composure crumbled. Hug flowers chimed without them moving.

Usually the rosy reality where they'd have forever, for as long as they wanted, was where she lived. Everything could go wrong in the world and they'd still have each other. She could mess up a hundred times and he'd still be here, sitting beside her on the edge of the bed, holding her.

The truth was it could end any time. Accidents happened.

"I wanted to keep you safe," Poppy whimpered.

Branch's voice quavered. "I've never been like that. It felt like I went crazy. I would've done anything… anything…" Fear pushed him closer to her. No amount of contact felt like enough.

They both jumped at the sudden noise at the door. _Boom Boom Clap_.

For the first time neither had the heart to open the portal to the rest of the world. They remained entwined.

 _Boom Boom Clap._ The other trolls weren't going away. Avoiding company only got a person so far. With reluctance Poppy slid off the bed. Branch wouldn't let go of her hand so he came with her. They opened the door.

Carol stood with a guitar case slung over her shoulder and a sucker in her mouth. "Hey."

Branch's fuzz prickled against Poppy's palm. He puffed up defensively. She couldn't handle any more conflict today. She couldn't. Her usual positivity sounded flat in her ears. "Heeeey," she said. "Do you think maybe you could come back tomorrow?"

The sucker rolled to the other side of Carol's mouth. "Yeah. You're mad. I get that." Her lazy expression didn't change. Fuchsia eyes wandered past Poppy to the room behind. "Where's river boy?"

Branch's prickliness intensified. Poppy rubbed her thumb over the back of the hand still locked with hers. It was alright.

"He's on the balcony," she said.

"Want me to take him? I'm next door." Carol flung a thumb to the side.

"Wait, what?" Branch asked, confused.

"Told Barb I was going with you guys. She's cool with it."

Poppy wanted to believe. She really wanted to. "You'll help him?"

"Sure."

Was it okay to trust? She looked at Branch. He didn't know any better than she did. Yet someone had allowed Carol into Symphonyville and given her a place to stay.

Poppy let Carol into the room. The lady of few words strolled to the balcony and looked at Creek for a while. Whatever her thoughts were, Poppy couldn't tell. In the end Carol shifted the guitar case with a depressed sigh. Azure hair calmly stretched around Creek's wrist.

True to her word Carol led Creek to the next room. She palmed the door. With a glance over her shoulder and the hand gesture rock trolls used, the two disappeared inside.

Guilt crushed Poppy because it was easier not having the reminder there. It was easier to be alone with Branch, to expect to only hear two hug watches and not three. Even then it was suffocatingly quiet. Branch tuned the music panel. The beautiful melody sounded sad in a way it hadn't before. Delicate piano trickled over cloudy surfaces.

They took care of each other. Branch sat on the edge of the tub in the bathroom while they removed his bandages. He discarded his slashed and bloodstained vest. Bare skin revealed crusted cuts all over his body. Rather than try to wash one at a time he showered. Poppy brought him clean clothes. They brushed each other's hair. She let Branch fuss over the bruise and swelling spreading up her arm. They made ice for her wrist from cloud magic.

"It's not magic. It's technology. I just don't know how it works."

"Cloud magic," she repeated just to hear him grumble. Proof that he was still Branch.

They cuddled on the sofa. The sun set.

"We should eat something," he said.

Neither of them did. She wasn't hungry.

Evening dark took over. The city lights blinked on.

"You don't remember anything?" she asked. Teal fuzz brushed her cheek at the slight shake of his head. No. He didn't. He'd reacted to her song but didn't remember doing so, not until the last verse.

In their clothes they lay on top of the bed, curled together. Every so often they gathered enough courage to talk. Mostly, though, they sought the peace snuggling brought.

"You said you were king," Poppy whispered.

"It's the only time I wanted to be. If they'd taken me instead."

"I would've come for you."

"I know."

Past that point there were no words. They held each other. After a while Poppy pulled back the blanket so Branch could get under. Then she joined him. They balled up together under the heavy weight. There they remained until they fell asleep.

More than once she half-woke to Branch shuddering and mewling heartbreaking whimpers in his nightmares. Each time she petted his hair until his breathing softened and he lay still. Then she buried her face against his fuzzy chest. Since he hummed and wrapped around her it probably woke him up, but she needed to feel him.

~ ~ ~

It was still dark out when she woke. A strange emptiness pervaded the cloud room. She flopped her arm to Branch's side. He wasn't there. "Branch?..."

No response. Her pulse quickened as fear crept in. She sat up to no lights turned on, no Branch at all. She called and called for him, stumbled to the hallway, and found Carol's door open. No one was inside.

Blind terror pushed her through a ghost city she barely remembered, to the cloud field. The black beetle took Branch away. She could see the leaves on his vest but he wouldn't turn around. He couldn't hear her no matter how much she cried for him. The beetle disappeared. Branch was gone, gone. She sobbed his name while absolute despair tore her apart.

"Poppy, hey. Hey. Shhh, shh, shh. You're okay."

She was in bed. A familiar touch rested on her arm. Immediately she grasped for the troll and hid herself against them. Scared shivers shook her while tears rolled. She'd lost Branch.

"It's alright. Shh. Shhh."

Branch. It was Branch. "You got taken away," she whimpered as the mental fog began to clear.

"You had a nightmare."

It felt real. Her heartbeat raced; she was trembling. She'd never had a nightmare like that. "Please don't go. Please..."

"I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere." Drowsiness tinged his voice while he rubbed her back.

Eventually the sky outside lightened. She must've fallen asleep again but it didn't feel like it. Branch was already up, sitting on the edge of the bed with his head in his hands. Fingertips massaged his forehead.

"Headache?" she murmured.

"Mmmh." His hands smothered his face. Yesterday's sick feeling hadn't gone anywhere. They were both miserable.

She missed the sound of the morning song in the village. Everything here was so different. Today it didn't seem such a fun thing. Poppy sat in the middle of the bed while Branch went through his morning routine. She pulled her knees to her face, folded her arms over them, and pillowed her head there.

She'd been so sure honest discussion would sort out differences. Instead she'd made everything worse. There was no solution. There was no compromise. The trolls either lived in safety, separated from the bergens, or they lived together at the risk they'd hurt each other. Whose side was she supposed to take? Why did there have to be sides?

It shouldn't be this difficult to live in harmony. Yet the more she thought about it the more impossible it seemed. Even if they tried to ignore each other they all had to share the same planet.

If she had skipped seeing Barb the other leader would keep fighting the bergens until they fought back. But if Poppy stayed away Creek would still be… he'd still be… and if she hadn't managed to call Branch back to himself then he'd be broken too.

Horror at how soulless he'd felt lingered. For a while he hadn't been Branch.

"Are you okay?" he said softly from across the room.

"No," she admitted.

Branch set aside the unopened pack of trail mix he'd taken from their luggage. He padded onto the bed to sit in front of her, close enough they touched. The contrast between how easily he did this and how gray he used to be made her emotional. They'd come this far to almost lose it all.

Sky eyes flicked over her with concern. He tenderly brushed whatever small parts of her he could reach. "Not feeling well?"

She turned her head to the side. "Dad taught me how to restore harmony between trolls. I'm the queen. That's what I'm supposed to do. But I don't know how this time."

"Aren't you being a little hard on yourself?"

No. Maybe. It didn't change anything.

"I don't think this is something any troll can fix so easily. I know you want to make it better right away but sometimes things don't work like that."

Poppy peered at Branch from under her scattered hair. His eyes were full of worry. She lifted a hand to rub the spot above his furrowed brows. "How's your head?"

"I took some talo flower. It's helping. I'm worried about you though."

"I just don't know what to do anymore."

"Well… you did say you wanted to go home," he suggested. Their bags were neatly packed she now noticed. Was it really okay to leave?

He sensed her doubts and said as if it were an order: "What if I _told_ you we're going home?"

"...okay."

"Wow. No resistance. Now I know you're not alright," he joked gently. He rubbed a hand over one of her legs to coax her to unfurl. "Okay then. New plan. We go home. We take Carol with us. We learn what we can about the other trolls from her, and that'll make us better prepared to try again."

Try again. They could try again. Hope tried to butterfly its way into Poppy's spirit but glum reality crushed it back. "Am I going to feel this way forever?" she wondered aloud.

Branch made an amused huff through his nose. "Poppy it's been less than twenty-four hours. I don't think you realize how upset you were yesterday."

"You were upset too!"

"And I still am, but I didn't have to see you be… erased."

"Oh."

They looked at each other.

Branch watched her with a soft intensity that came before kisses. She waited. The first peck arrived on her nose. When she didn't resist he gave the next, a kiss of comfort closer to home.

Fingers wound with one of her hands as he slid further away, encouraging her off the bed. Her feet touched the ground. It was odd to be the one whose confidence was shattered. She gave in. Branch took charge and made the decisions. He exchanged farewells, he organized their little party, he geared up the flyer bugs. He wasn't feeling his best but he led anyway.

Poppy climbed onto her bug full of appreciation for the troll who shared his life with her. What she'd said earlier was true even if he didn't remember. They'd become family.

A weight settled behind her and snuggled close. There were plenty of other options, but that's where Branch chose to be.

"Ready?" he asked.

"Yeah."


	40. Hearts

After Symphonyville, for a few weeks Branch experienced the frustration Poppy probably felt when he had moody days. The frustration wasn't at her. It was at not being able to help her cope. He knew she was hurting but he also knew there was little he could do besides be there. Sometimes sadness couldn't be "solved."

He breathed easier when she started spending time with friends again. Quicker than expected her usual sunny behavior returned – and not in a superficial way. He'd learned to tell when she was only putting on a positive show for others.

Today she was fine, flipping through a clipboard of notes while they sat together on one of the tree limbs. He took another bite of his sandwich. Thoughts drifted lazily between the conversation last week with Bridget and Gristle about the finished Trollberg fence, extending a clawed hand to the other bergen cities for help, and the more imminent disaster if Branch didn't get Village waterslide maintenance scheduled soon.

Poppy shuffled pages. "Hm, I need a pen." Instinctively she reached for his hair.

Branch flinched back before her hand got inside. He tried to be nonchalant about it, taking the pen out himself and passing it along. Unfortunately he'd evaded enough times Poppy finally questioned it.

"Does it bother you when I borrow things? I can ask before touching. I don't mind."

"It's not that," he assured. "I have a trap in there. I started thinking birds might get in…"

"Oh Branch really?" she sighed, tired of hearing about birds. He was concerned the crows would infiltrate their part of the forest and start causing problems. The trap in his hair, though, that was a lie to hide what was actually inside until the time was right.

Sadly he had no clue when that would be. He thought it'd happen soon, but… hm.

Poppy was still talking. "The kids did apologize for hiding seeds in your hair. Songbirds are tiny. I know they can be pests, but they're not gonna eat you."

Ah, right. That had actually happened. "Sometimes I have second thoughts about having kids," he grumbled.

She patted his leg and handed the pen back with a kiss. "If it makes you feel any better that happened when we _don't_ have kids. Think of it as an inevitable positive destiny!"

"No destiny involving hair birds is a good one."

Poppy's voice dipped flirtatiously low. "What about _this_ destiny? The one with you and me here right now?"

" _One_ destiny involving hair birds _might_ be a good one," he amended.

She smiled. It was good to be home.

The question he wanted to ask smothered under stubborn determination to be patient after all that had happened.

~ ~ ~

"Do you think she forgot?" Branch wondered aloud. He rolled a random pebble between his fingers, looking at it without really seeing. Admittedly it hurt to think Poppy'd forgotten. He'd been so excited. Now this. Maybe it'd slipped her mind, or she was too sad, or she didn't want to anymore.

The sensible thing would be to remind her. For some dumb reason he chose not to. He wanted her to remember and do it on her own, not be pressured.

"She probably forgot. I don't blame her," he said.

Branch waited. As usual nothing happened. He filled the gaps in. "Why yes, Branch," he mocked. "Of course Poppy's forgotten about this very important thing to you. She has a whole queendom to run you know."

"Thank you Creek. I see your opinions are delightful as ever."

The trolless gray husk continued raking the sand. It hadn't drawn any patterns. It just kept raking the same spot over and over. Deep furrows marred the beach.

Creek didn't go to the village anymore. Only one or two of his friends still came to check on him. Branch knew that'd eventually stop. He remembered when it had happened to him.

Creek deserved this.

The thought was hollow. It brought Branch no joy to see this. If anything his guts twisted every time he worked up the courage to come to the far side of the beach. It was like watching a reflection of his past. Had he ever been this bad?

He'd asked Poppy one day. It took a long time before she finally said, very quietly, "...yes."

Branch barely remembered the worst of those times. Now he saw them in broad daylight.

How had Poppy done it? _Why?_

He leaned back against the river rock and sighed, closing his eyes to focus on warm sunlight. The rake shushed through sand. Water trickled. Smooth stone tumbled from one hand to the other.

"Was it all a facade? The arrogance, the carefree attitude. What was underneath all that?"

Creek continued raking.

They'd never know, now. If the real Creek had given an answer it would've been a garbled cosmic mess anyway.

Footsteps shuffled lazily through sand. "He can't hear you. Hasn't improved," Carol said.

"He takes care of himself at least."

She shrugged. "If you call it that. A sucky way to live if you ask me."

Creek's shell went through the motions of daily life. That was it. The gray troll didn't respond to song. Poppy's music held no special power. Hugs did nothing. Barb's letters ran dry on ideas. Only after a lot of trial and error were trolls beginning to accept the fact Creek wasn't coming back.

Carol said, "Been hearing you used to be gray. That true?"

"Mmh."

"What changed?"

"A lot." Branch rolled the pebble between his fingers. Through a combination of help from others and his own actions to help himself, he'd wound up here, in a life he enjoyed, with trolls he loved. It didn't solve everything. It was still sad sometimes. But that's what life was. Ups and downs.

He pondered this aloud to Carol. The rock troll said nothing, simply listening.

Carol had led Creek to this stage out of a sense of responsibility for Barb's actions. Beyond that Creek showed no improvement. His inner heart was broken, his music lost.

"Maybe he was messed up before," she said.

"Huh?"

"Like there's bad memories or regrets. Maybe he thinks he deserves this or somethin. Dunno."

"Creek's not that empathetic," Branch said. "He's the only one of us who never lost their colors."

Carol shrugged. "Barb doesn't fade. She hides her problems."

Carol left Branch with his thoughts. He tossed the pebble into the sand and stood up. Ever since the Bergentown cooking pot simply seeing Creek spiked Branch's frustration. At best their personal interactions were bitter and vindictive if not downright enraged.

Even that had changed.

Branch turned to leave. Before doing so he spared one more glance at the gray troll raking the beach.

Now, when he looked at the songless figure, all he felt was a tired emptiness. It wasn't forgiveness. Yet it felt like an end. A freedom from some heavier emotion that weighed him down for so long.

Branch was finally able to walk away from the anger he'd carried all that time.

~ ~ ~

It happened after a string of days neither Poppy nor Branch visited the beach. Poppy immediately knew something was up because Carol was rarely this emotive. Concern furrowed the dull blue troll's brow.

"Queen Poppy. Got a problem."

"What's up?"

"Can't find Creek anywhere. Checked his pod. Some of his stuff's missing, and…" she withdrew a scrap of paper. On it, the word:

_Goodbye._

Poppy's stomach dropped in fear. "We have to find him."

~ ~ ~

They searched, and searched, and searched. Days passed. The longer it took the more Poppy worried. She kept thinking of gray Branch, if he'd left the village and never come back.

Carol's Kampi beetle flew in from the west. The beetle landed at the search party's gathering point. "Nothing. He's gone."

"He's colorless. We probably just didn't see him," Poppy said. "We'll have to look again tomorrow."

It was getting dark out. Almost every search group had returned by now. Eyes were downcast and hair drooped. After so many failures spirits flagged. They needed a song.

The hum of flyer bugs announced Branch's party. He landed. Poppy didn't spy any gray trolls among the bugs.

"Any luck?" she asked. He shook his head. "Ok," she said, "I'll go again. Just to double check to be sure. I know he's out there."

"Poppy," Branch quietly interrupted. He rubbed the back of his neck. Then he sighed. "I think maybe… it's time to let go."

No one protested. The trolls remained silent.

"But we can't give up!" Poppy said. "What if he's hurt? What if he needs help?"

Carol scratched her cheek. "Injured trolls are easier to track."

"We would've found him by now," Branch agreed.

It was just like before. None of the others would keep trying unless Poppy pushed them. But she was tired of pushing. So, she'd do another search alone tonight, and start over tomorrow. "Alright," she said. "Smidge, tell Tug I'll be late to her event. I do want to look a little longer."

While the others headed out for the night Poppy hopped onto her royal bug. Branch hurried over. The earnest tone and concerned crinkles around his eyes made her weak. "Please," he said, looking up from the ground.

"I have to do this," she said.

His voice hardened. "No, you don't."

Was Branch giving up too? This hurt. This hurt so bad. She looked away. "You never left the village," she said.

"I stayed because I needed to be here. I needed _you_. Don't you remember what it's like to lose your music?"

Careless nothing at the bottom of a cold metal pot. "I didn't feel like doing anything…"

"But Creek _chose_ to leave. Even though it'd be easier to stay he left. It must be important. Is dragging him back actually necessary?"

Branch made it sound like Creek didn't want to come back at all. She hesitated on top of her bug. "You don't even like him," she said aloud. It sounded insane to say two trolls didn't like each other. Branch didn't even bat an eye at the offensive sentence.

"No. I don't."

He whistled for his flyer. It flitted across the field to join them. Branch waited, as if to say they could either discuss this together, or he'd fly with her if she insisted on searching more. Mere minutes ago she'd doubted his dedication and now it felt childish. Of course he wanted to take care of her. Agh, her emotions were a mess.

Poppy slid off her bug. The two critters were colorful walls sandwiching her and Branch. He visibly relaxed once she got down.

"Do you have a plan?" he asked.

"Besides your search schedules? Um, get Creek and take him home."

"And if he leaves again?"

She hadn't thought of that. Her ears dipped. "Why wouldn't he want to stay here? It's his home."

"It's a constant reminder of what he did to us. Every single troll here is a reminder."

What a horrible notion. "No…"

"Poppy, enough," he said softly. "It's time to let go. He made his decision."

"He's gray because of me, Branch."

"That's not your fault. You're not responsible for every individual troll's personal happiness."

Even though it made no sense Poppy felt like she was. She wanted everyone to find happiness. But the world was so _big_ now. She wasn't a Princess in a small village. She was a Queen in a world that included many other kinds of leaders, trolls and bergens alike.

"We should still try to find Creek," she said halfheartedly.

"We can do that, but… why are you so determined to keep looking?"

"Because I've never had to say goodbye to anyone before."

Realization dawned on Branch. He stopped talking, a little look of surprise on his face.

Poppy tried to unravel the knot of messy feelings balled up inside. Guilt, worry, hope, confusion. She rubbed her arm. "Is this really okay? Letting go, I mean. It feels wrong."

"Does it feel _wrong_ or does it feel _sad_?"

"...sad," she realized.

Sad.

Branch quietly gathered her into a hug. Then she cried. Slow, fat tears rolled down her cheeks. Nothing loud or out of control. Just the emotion leaking out.

They wouldn't see Creek again. She searched her emotions and realized… it was okay. She'd grown strong enough to face this. She could almost hear the sarcastic voice in her head saying, "Now?"

In spite of everything Poppy hiccupped soft laughs through the sadness. Branch didn't know what to make of it. "What?" he asked.

"Nothing. It's just… I tried to move on a long time ago, after Bergentown, when we all thought he was dead. And I couldn't do it."

"And now…?"

She sniffled over his shoulder, awkwardly smearing tearful laughter with an arm. "Yeah." She stepped out of the hug. "Yeah. I think I can."

As she said the words a lightness lifted her spirits. She really could do this. Whatever had held her back before was gone.

Poppy looked to the night coated forest.

_Goodbye._

That was it.

For the first time in her life Poppy said farewell to a friend who had once been close to her heart. It hurt. But, in a good way? Creek was on his own adventure now.

She swiped at her eyes. "Do you think he'll find what he's looking for?"

Branch sighed. "That troll was always too conniving for his own good. I'm sure he knows exactly what he's doing, deep down. He probably would've left for greener pastures no matter what color he was."

"But our pastures are the greenest."

Branch took her hand, smiling. "I agree. So. Shall we?"

They went home together. There were no more searches after that.

Every now and then they'd hear tell of a gray troll traveling through other territories. Since it turned out not only were there other trolls who lost their colors from distress, but an entire subgenre naturally born in grayscale, blacks, and whites, it was impossible be sure if the wanderer was Creek.

Wherever his broken heart had guided him no one knew.

~ ~ ~

Poppy spent the morning with Carol. It was really hard to tell, because y'know, _Carol_ , but the placid rock troll seemed to enjoy the forest. Once Creek left she could have returned home but she hadn't. More than once Poppy had seen her napping on sunny boulders, sipping drinks at an outdoor cafe, or playing low moody tunes on a wicked looking bass guitar.

After poking the rocker with questions about her culture Poppy dug Branch out of his house under the tree for a walk.

"I've been thinking," Poppy said.

"Oh no," Branch replied.

She shot him a wry smile and bumped his shoulder. "I think my place is here, in the village."

"No more wild adventures?" Her sweet troll looked so hopeful she had to giggle.

"Not exactly." She winked. "I still want to visit the other trolls. But as long as I'm queen it'd be great to make Troll Village as amazing as Symphonyville. In our own way, of course."

Branch tapped out three fingers. "Singing, dancing, and hugging."

"You bet." And more. Recovering their history, for one.

In a world full of different trolls she'd had to rethink what her goals as queen were. She'd had to rethink _a lot_.

"I don't want us to live isolated from everyone. But it doesn't make sense for me to travel a whole bunch. We need ambassadors for that. And I think we should invite others to live here. Diversity, Branch." She chopped a hand over her open palm. "You can't have a potluck if everyone brings fondue. Then it's a potunluck. Or a really big collection of fondue. And yes, I know we all love fondue but we also love chocolate, and fruit salad, and elbow noodles, and—you get my point."

Branch considered her delicious stew of ideas. He was the voice of reason. If there were weak points he'd note them. "That all sounds nice in theory, but you do remember the rock and classical trolls ended up fighting. What if we don't all get along?"

_Of course we'll all get along,_ is what she would've cheered, once. But she'd lived a little too much to view it that simply anymore. "We'll start small. A few new pods, or a few places for trolls to build houses they're used to. Plus Trollberg will be open for visitors. That way people can get to know us by staying on vacation." She squished a paper in her hand. "And that's how we get them to _love_ us. Then they'll never want to leave. Hah hah!"

"You're scary sometimes."

"Says the troll who's afraid of holiday cheer."

"I am _not_ afraid. It just makes all of you even more unreasonable than usual."

She snapped her fingers. "And that's what frightens you."

"..."

Point for Poppy.

They meandered through the village market, picking out a couple of treats to snack on. Gorgeous sunny weather shimmied across booths and banners and striped canopies. Poppy was bursting with ideas for the future. One of them involved adding a second story to their pod.

Branch watched her bounce around. "I'm glad you're feeling better."

"Me too. Sulking: zero star experience," she laughed sorta nervously. "Do not recommend."

"Mmm. Right down there with Monopoly and canned creamy swamp moss."

She paused at the same glitter booth they'd crashed into together years ago. Their first meeting floated to mind. Poppy fed her nostalgia while admiring sparkle-filled jars and tubes. Branch fidgeted beside her.

"Hey, uh, Poppy…"

The way he said it made her heart skip a step. "Yeah?"

One beat. Two.

"...Nevermind."

Huh.

Poppy peered at Branch while he took an unusual interest in the variety of glitters. He studied the shape options. Stars, sequins, squares. He looked to the shopkeeper. "Which one of these would you say is the most annoying and difficult to get rid of?"

"Oh, you mean the most fun?"

"Yeah, sure. That."

"This one here. The pieces are tiny, flat, and light so they stick amazingly well. Guaranteed long lasting joy."

"...Good to know."

Is that what he wanted to ask about? Glitter? That didn't seem right. Poppy meshed her fingers together and watched them wiggle. She had one more errand. "Let's swing by the fruit vendors and then you can go back to your projects. I need redberries, uh, bumble fruit, and tango melon. Yeah," she said, hoping he didn't catch on to her plan.

It was easy enough to distract Branch with his own work after that. She climbed the tree, tango melon in tow. All she had to do now was cut it.

~ ~ ~

Poppy hopped a couple of invisible hopscotch boxes at the very tip top of the troll tree. From here she could see the sun setting, casting the world into a fun array of warmer colors. Soon Branch would find the note in their pod and make his way up here.

This felt so counterintuitive to anything she'd expected. Usually trolls made a public spectacle of these things. But her troll wasn't like other trolls. He was special.

She'd planned almost nothing. It seemed… wrong. Like, she'd put more effort into a ¾ birthday party, and even she was willing to admit those weren't that important. Meanwhile here she was about to ask _the_ most important question without proper presentation. Ah-hah. No big deal.

Poppy rocked up and down on her toes. Spongy moss cushioned underfoot. She already knew his answer and she was still insanely nervous. What was up with that?

Her hug watch chimed. Any minute now.

She heard Branch before she saw him. Leaves rustled further down as he moved them out of the way. The sounds got closer. Poppy brushed her dress for the somethingth time. She'd left her crown at home.

The jungle leaf cloak closed over her outfit. Everything she'd chosen had special meaning. Branch would appreciate that more than a grand gesture. Um. Hopefully. The massive amount of confidence she'd had coming up with these ideas rapidly dwindled.

Soft blue hair peeked over the path. Step by step Branch climbed the tree. He slowed when he saw the cloak and his eyes lit up. Sunset embers sparkled in his hair. Maybe he didn't know what was happening just yet but he sensed something different.

"Special occasion, surprise, or crazy plan?" he asked. A light kiss tickled her cheek.

"All of them."

His eyebrows popped up. Under her cloak the hidden gift box trembled in her hand. "Branch…"

She turned around and undid the clasp on her leaf cloak. It folded to her back revealing the yellow sundress from their first date underneath. The box sat in her palm, but he couldn't see it yet.

Branch said nothing and the air of expectation grew so thick she could barely breathe. The gift opened, she took the tiny offering out, and the box disappeared into her hair. Words she'd recited stuck in her throat. What if he said no?

Poppy became so anxious it overheated her brain. Everything she planned to say evaporated like mist. She shocked herself by whirling around, whipping out the heart-shaped piece of tango melon, and spouting:

"BranchWillYouMarryMe?!"

...

He didn't answer.

_He didn't answer._

Oh, gosh, they'd talked about this. He said it was okay, but now he was just looking at her in smiling silence. They'd done everything together, been together, talked about having a family, and he'd waited all this time to finally, finally take the ultimate invitation and crush it under his heel.

Insurmountable horror flayed her alive. She didn't even notice the toothpick leave her grasp. She barely registered that he ate the fruit, tucked the pick into his vest. His hand was soft on hers and she was dying.

"Poppy."

Was she having a panic attack?

Branch reached into his hair. "My heart is yours. All of it."

Then he put the entirety of a brilliant teal heart jewel into her hands. Not a piece of it, no. The whole sprinkling thing. It took both hands to hold it, and as soon as she touched it, it glowed. Radiant aquamarine beams flecked with pink and lavender danced in her palms.

"Yes, I'll marry you," Branch said.

W– wh– wha– he'd made her wait! She thought he was going to say no! How could she even hug him like this? Her hands were full!

Poppy sort of fell forward into Branch. He caught her and his heart folded against her chest, pressed between their bodies. He loved her. He said yes. Tears squeezed at the corners of her eyes. Somehow something so simple had become very emotional. He… they… had just chosen to stay together, even if it got tough. Even if it wasn't perfect all the time.

"You made me wait," Poppy murmured into him. Branch chuckled. What was he so happy about? It felt like a star had exploded in her chest and the sparks wouldn't settle down.

"I was excited. Can't a troll enjoy being proposed to?"

" _After_ he says yes," she teased.

"Then, yes." Laughter sparkled in Branch's voice. It swirled inside her own rising joy. "Yes. Yes. Yes!" He hugged her tight. Ticklish kisses and affectionate nuzzles swished over her face. The sheer happiness dazzling her future husband made her giggle.

They snuggled together in that hug for a while. Branch's jewel glowed warmly between them. Someday that'd be the start of a new family. She only wished she could've given hers in return.

Poppy stepped back, clinging to Branch's heart. His soft sky gaze trailed crinkle comets. The adorable loving smile made her emotions swell, and she wanted to admire him but that stupid bang of hers wouldn't get out of her face. She blew on her hair only to have it spring back to tickle her nose.

Branch's hands clamped down on her shoulders. His eyes widened. "Don't move."

The section of hair she couldn't control tugged at her hairline, lengthening, curling into a funny sideways S. The tip dangled between her and Branch's faces. Fuzzy pink fibers puffed like a flower bud. The bud kept growing. In front of Branch's stunned expression it formed a familiar love shape.

Just like a heart flower it bloomed. The bottom tip split and each hair petal curled upward revealing the jewel within.

The heart she'd spent so long trying to regrow hung from the blossom. Sunset light reflected off its shining pink surface and the glittery blue sparkles suspended inside. It matched Branch's perfectly.

They stared.

"Your troll gem," Branch whispered like he couldn't believe it. "You kept it in your hair."

The happiness troll gem that grew heart flowers – she kept it in her hair. The gem that could heal cracked hearts.

After being shattered her heart had protected itself. It had made sure that this time it fell into the right hands. Hands that had been there, and stayed, through good times and bad. Hands that had just pledged a heart full of love.

With a bursting smile Poppy eased the miracle jewel forward. "I want you to have mine."

He hadn't quite processed the spectacle yet. Amazed blue eyes searched hers to see if she really meant her words. Of course she did. She wanted him to have all of it.

Branch collected her heart with all the tenderness in the world. He delicately picked the gem from the blossom. The pink hair flower folded away, smoothing back to an ordinary bang. It tucked to the side without any help.

A tiny pinprick of reconnection astonished her. She'd lost control of that strand of hair for so long she'd gotten used to it being rogue. When did it even start acting up?

Poppy saw the awe on Branch's face while he held her heart. Sudden shyness and excitement swirled. They'd gone so off script at this point she decided to improvise. "Let's put them together."

Branch's gaze snapped up. "What. Now?"

She grinned. "Yeah."

"Aren't we were supposed to do that after the wedding?"

Heat flushed her cheeks but she ignored it. "We're kind of halfway there, proposing with our whole hearts instead of sharing pieces."

Branch wore a matching blush. "If… if you want."

"Do you? I can wait."

His blush deepened. "Until a minute ago I didn't think I'd _get_ to."

Branch cradled her pink heart jewel to his chest and closed his eyes with a soft little smile. The visual emblazoned itself permanently in her memory. For a while he held her heart like that. Then he said, "Yeah. I do."

He wanted to pair their gems. To make the final mark of commitment. Here, now, with the sun sleeping on the horizon, in their favorite spot at the top of the troll tree.

Branch lay her heart flat in his palms. Amber light reflected off the strong pink surface. Poppy's pulse picked up. This was really happening.

She held Branch's heart out and gingerly eased it over hers. Like magnets they pulled toward each other with surprising force. They _wanted_ to be together. The closer the gems got the stronger the pull. Muscles strained in an attempt to make the setting gentle. In Branch's palms her jewel shivered, trying to lift up towards the other. It became too powerful. Poppy let go.

_Click_.

A shining light seared the two halves together. Warmth flooded her chest. For that fleeting moment she felt the connection, a snug and familiar surface pressed to the face of her soul.

The light vanished. Her fingers rested on top of the aquamarine face of the heart. The pink half nestled in Branch's hands.

In wonder Poppy lifted the complete gem up. A solid wall of color between the different pieces made it obvious they'd only just been paired. One curious wisp of pink had already tickled across the border.

"In theory they come apart," Branch said with a note of disbelief.

She chuckled. "Good luck with that. It was hard enough trying to keep them from slamming into each other."

"I felt it happen. The stuff I've read describing the feeling doesn't really do it justice."

"It was like a hug." An incredible one.

"Most magical hug I've ever had," he mumbled while she offered him a turn to hold their newly forged heart. His wide smile made her want to run victory laps and shout.

Something about the passionate way Branch handled their treasure thrilled her. A flash of imagination showed him cradling their egg with that much ardor and pride. She wanted that. The sudden ferocity of how much Poppy wanted that stunned her.

Quickly as the sharp feeling came it went. But, for a split second, Poppy could've sworn she'd been bitten by baby fever. She wasn't ready for that yet…

"The colors are amazing," Branch was saying as he coddled their heart. Seeing him excited over it was adorable.

Oh! The wedding. She didn't mean to gloss over it. Poppy shyly looked at her feet while she twisted one set of toes against the tree. "How about a small ceremony?"

"You would do that?"

She looked up with a soft smile. "It's _our_ wedding, not mine."

Branch curled his fingers around Poppy's. "A small ceremony and a big party, then." Something for each of them.

He made one additional request: to handle the party invitations.

"That's going to be a lot. Are you sure?"

"Positive."

~ ~ ~

Poppy sensed Branch was up to something. He insisted on delivering the party invites himself in the dead of night. The trolls would wake up to the cards first thing in the morning.

So when Poppy got out of bed to find zero trace of her fiancé, she hurried down the tree to his place. She worried the delivery had gone wrong and she'd have to calm a Branch freakout.

Instead she found him at the kitchen table sipping coffee with an expression so smug she was surprised his mug didn't melt. A single unsent envelope sat on the table.

Eager to see what he'd been secretly working on, Poppy swiped the white rectangle.

Branch moved so suddenly coffee sloshed out of the mug. His hand snatched at air where the envelope had just been. "Ah ta ta ta! Not in here!"

Curious, and being a little bit of a tease, Poppy unsealed the flap. Branch cringed.

"I'll take it outside," she decided. He sagged with relief.

Poppy opened the door and went outside. She could see Branch behind one of the window panes shooing her further. Backwards she stepped, back and back and back until she got a distant thumbs up.

The plain white packet looked innocent. It was fat for a greeting card, though. She slipped the more colorful "card" out of the envelope. The thick bottom half made it more like a notepad. A simple cute cutout of her and Branch decorated the top.

Poppy opened the wedding invitation. At that exact moment happy shrieks came from a nearby pod, but she didn't have time to react, because a little straw flipped out of the center of the card. Two tiny prongs unfolded at the straw's top, and it started spinning, and—

GLITTER

Spiral waves coated Poppy and everything in a twenty troll radius. The sprinkler whirled. Rainbow colors shimmered in the air. The handmade device spun, spraying a solid shower in all directions. It just kept going. Miniscule flecks plastered over foliage. The glitter started bouncing off itself, shimmering in sheets to the grass.

Finally the tiny invention petered out.

Stunned, Poppy held the depleted card at the center of a massive shiny encrusted circle. Then she started laughing to the sound of similar excitement happening in each and every pod. He'd—oh, that troll.

Branch's revenge came swift as every troll discovered their card, flipped the lid, and experienced a meticulously crafted glitter bomb. Sparkles poured out over people's pods, furniture, and faces. No one was spared save the mastermind himself. Years afterwards trolls would still find wedding invite twinkles hiding in forgotten corners and behind photo frames.

The village sparkled for weeks; the type of glitter he'd installed in his invention was nearly impossible to get rid of. Even on the day of the wedding party every troll's hair still shimmered with tiny specks.

Everyone loved it.

When Branch walked down the dance floor with the only sparkle-free hair in the whole town, nobody complained. He didn't need glitter anyway. If he was in just the right mood natural freckles on his cheeks appeared. To Poppy that would always be the best surprise.

Teal glitter flecks shone brightly while the celebration of their love partied long into the evening.

~ ~ ~

After a near endless night of dancing Poppy's elaborate hair had fallen into a tangled mess. Most of Branch's tux heaped in pieces over one arm. As soon as they left the wedding reception he moved so fast nobody had the time to stop the bride and groom for a 17th round of congratulations.

The whole day fell behind in a tiring blur. Expert event planner she may be, but Poppy understood now why couples thought one wedding was enough.

Branch burst through their front door with a huge sigh. He piled his clothes on the bed and tugged off his shirt. The buttons had already been undone hours ago. "Do you remember _any_ of that?" he groaned, exhausted.

Poppy sleepily removed jewelry. "I remember Biggie freaking out about some missing dessert trays."

Branch grumbled. "Don't remind me. It felt like the whole _world_ was ending."

He dragged himself to the shower while Poppy picked ornaments out of her hair. In the bathroom mumbling and cursing interrupted water spray as Branch realized he'd left his decorations in. The shower paused for wet footsteps. Wedding hair flair clacked on the counter piece by piece. Poppy grinned.

Fast as possible they changed into their most comfortable pajamas and collapsed in bed.

"Don't laugh," Poppy said. "But I'm tired."

Branch laughed. She nudged him with a foot.

He settled further into bed with an incredibly relieved sigh. "I didn't think we'd ever get out of there."

"Like one of those dreams where you're stuck at the same party forever."

"Nightmares."

"No, forever parties are good dreams."

"Poppy, if the party didn't stop we'd never actually get to be married," he commented drowsily.

They were married.

_Married._

Nothing had changed but it felt special anyway. Was this real?

"We're married," she said quietly, testing the feeling of it. She turned her head to see the soft expression on Branch's face, teal cheek cushioned by his pillow. It felt amazingly satisfying to say, "You're my husband."

Branch rewarded her with the most fluffy sleepy smile ever.

"You're my wife."

Her heart leapt for joy at the phrase. Poppy bet if she peeked inside the specially crafted treasure box that held their shared jewel it'd be doing the same.

They snuggled together under the blanket. She didn't even remember falling asleep.

For the first time as husband and wife, Poppy and Branch had the best dreamless night of solid sleep any troll could wish for. Love glow and hair sparkles dimmed down to darkness in their quiet pod. The two rested soundly, without waking, without anyone to bother them, and without any obligations tomorrow.

Eventually Poppy would wake up totally refreshed, and Branch would do the same. They'd keep on living together as they always had, sharing meals, plans, and dreams. Living and loving. Their home would grow, their family would grow, and their love would evolve until one day they discovered the calm, steady certainty that came with many years together.

But that was tomorrow's adventure.

Today Poppy slept beside her husband.

And it was bliss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more chapter left. I didn't expect to meet the awesome people I have through writing this fic. I always wanted to update soon as possible so I could hear from you again!
> 
> [All my Trolls fics](https://archiveofourown.org/works?utf8=%E2%9C%93&commit=Sort+and+Filter&work_search%5Bsort_column%5D=kudos_count&work_search%5Bother_tag_names%5D=&work_search%5Bexcluded_tag_names%5D=&work_search%5Bcrossover%5D=&work_search%5Bcomplete%5D=&work_search%5Bwords_from%5D=&work_search%5Bwords_to%5D=&work_search%5Bdate_from%5D=&work_search%5Bdate_to%5D=&work_search%5Bquery%5D=&work_search%5Blanguage_id%5D=&fandom_id=47822806&pseud_id=CrownePrince&user_id=CrownePrince) if you want more.
> 
> I'm excited because, wow, I have two unpublished broppy stories with way different energy than Unspoken. Not sure which will be my focus first: pirates or rock dystopia. You can sub [my author page](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrownePrince) to get notification when those come out since I probably won't start posting until mostly finished. I have some other Trolls stories to publish before that so be patient. =]


	41. Joy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a journey. Thanks for reading.

It was a sunny day like any other. Poppy sat on the tree limb in front of her two-story pod enjoying the late afternoon's shining summer warmth. After six years of ruling and almost just as many being married, things settled into a comfortable routine, even with all the adventures brought on by the other troll cultures.

She hadn't seen Guy, Satin, or Chenille in ages. They'd moved out of the village to broaden their horizons. Cooper sometimes disappeared for months and it was impossible to know for sure if the crazy tales he brought home were fact or fiction. Ting's cloud home floated over Misty Meadows. Carol and a couple other rock trolls built a den by Black Rock. Poppy was sure more trolls would appear as years went by.

The bergens were slowly coming to terms with damage caused by centuries of banishments. Fixing it wouldn't be easy. Poppy wasn't too sure of the details; she was simply grateful Bridget and Gristle were doing much better. Dignitaries came from far, far away to train the bergen royals and additional staff members in governance. Running a kingdom took many hands.

Poppy caught a glimpse of mint hair beside a shorter orange tuft. Smidge and Milton rounded the tree trunk. A pair of leashed critters bounded ahead of them, flicking wings and wagging tails. The unusual pets came from Symphonyville. Normally they trained to herd sheep notes, but Milton raised these ones to track injured critters. They were naturally playful. Smidge and Milton stopped a few times for others to pet the furred animals.

In the distance a troll strolled out of the forest. Poppy could be colorblind and still recognize him by the confident way he moved. Branch gave his two-finger wave to a few folks as he made his way over the lawn.

Earlier in the day Poppy had visited Suki: something she made an effort to do more and more often. If Suki's pod was messy before, it was a natural disaster now. The DJ's son took an interest in everything. Occasionally Biggie would go over to help, but apart from that most of Suki's close friends were parents themselves.

"The dynamic is totally different now," Suki stressed. "I'm glad I've got friends who are going through what I do. Yeah, maybe we don't get to go to parties whenever we want, but look at how much fun this is," she said with a big smile, shuffling a stack of crayon art off the floor and onto a table. Whimsical scribbles by a tiny hand and Suki's sturdy lines mix together.

Poppy watched Legsly play with her friends on one of the mossy tree limbs. The energetic batch of colors and fluff raced around. Yearning pooled in Poppy's heart at the sight of it.

Sometimes that feeling got so intense it hurt. She'd been stabbed by longing last week at the market simply for noticing Striped Smiley's assortment of frosting colors and sprinkles to decorate cookies, something she used to do with her dad when she was a little girl.

On the grass down below Branch wasn't in a rush. He took the new elevator scaling up the trunk instead of using his hair, the tip of which tip swirled into a curlicue. A basket of fresh foraged goodies swung from the curl – ingredients to use in whatever he had planned for dinner tonight.

He walked along the treetop path looking rather pleased with himself. "You're home early," he commented before stooping to steal a kiss. Then he turned to head inside.

It was an ordinary day.

"Branch."

Her husband paused and looked back. She knew all the details of his face. It amazed her how time made him more and more handsome. Whenever she truly looked at him it made her feel good, safe, and secure. He supported her. He loved her. She could see it in his eyes.

"I think I'm ready," she said.

"Ready for what? Dinner won't be done for a while," he teased.

An unusual mix of sincerity and seriousness kept her quiet. Branch's casual smile dropped. His eyes flicked to the doorway, back to her, and then to the pod again while he lowered the basket inside. One hand rubbed the other bashfully. "Are you talking about kids?"

She nodded. Feeling exposed, she stood up and hid inside the hug Branch had waiting for her.

"Are you sure?" he murmured over her shoulder.

"No," she admitted. It was a little scary to see how much Suki's life changed.

"We don't have to now. I mean, I can wait."

It'd been five years. Waiting wouldn't make her any less nervous. "I don't want to wait forever. I want to have kids with you and now's a good time."

All of a sudden it felt like they were awkward teenagers who had no clue what they were doing. They ended up in the kitchen. Branch washed and chopped mushrooms from the basket. "Um. So, tonight, or…?"

"Uh…" Poppy fiddled with her glass of water. Their pod was big enough. They'd have time to get furniture and clothes and nectar and the million other baby items that Branch kept stashes of in the bunker for families during an emergency.

Tonight.

"I guess?" she said. The enormity of the decision crushed down on her.

Branch sensed her unease. "How about we try, and if it gets too serious we'll wait a bit and try again later?"

Poppy smirked in spite of the situation. "There's such a thing as too serious?"

"For you? Yes."

Dinner was served. How long would they get before their trolling hatched? The more active their love life the faster it would happen. So, not long. Giddy nerves raced up and down her spine. She pushed noodles around her dish. Branch wasn't faring much better.

Poppy put her fork down. "Hey, here's an idea. Let's do it right now."

"Now?" Branch twisted his fork around on the plate. "As in, now, now?"

"Now."

"We're, ah, going to need bedding. What do you think: fabric, flower petals, we could clip our hair, there's the fuzzy blanket I keep on the chair at the shop."

"How about that supersoft moss?"

"That's a thirty minute hike—"

"Oh."

"—but I have some in storage."

"I want that."

Shortly afterwards Poppy cleared off the dresser upstairs. Branch returned with an armful of moss. He spread the thick cut rectangle over the dresser. Tiny pastel flowers dotted the surface.

Surprised, Poppy brushed fingers over the moss. "This is fresh. I thought you said it was in storage?"

"I started keeping a stock of materials just in case… you know."

Oh, Poppy loved her man. How had she been so incredibly lucky? She shot him a silly grin and plucked their heart out of its treasure box. Curling wisps of pink and aquamarine intertwined in fields of colorful stars. With each passing year their hearts would continue growing together into a sparkly, swirling cosmos.

Poppy sat on the edge of the bed, holding the jewel. "I'm not sure how to say it yet."

Branch climbed onto the mattress and beckoned her over, positioning himself in a way she could scooch back between his legs. He wrapped his arms around her waist and kissed her neck before brushing his nose along the edge of her shoulder. His chest was soft and firm against her back. Being held like this was so comforting she considered putting the heart away and cuddling instead.

Branch's breath brushed her skin. "Let me know when you're ready. I already know what I want to say."

The warm gem glowed in Poppy's grasp. She watched it sparkle, starry flecks glinting between her fingers. When she was ready Branch slipped his hands over hers so they were both holding their jewel.

Poppy closed her eyes. "I wish for a baby we can share our love and life with, and for a happy and fun family."

"My wish is yours: for a little one of our own."

Wishing together for new life, out loud, filled Poppy with an indescribable _feeling._ The emotion was so powerful it defied expression. She clung to the shining heart and pressed as close to Branch as she could. He held her tight, wrapping himself around her, nuzzling kisses into her shoulder. Her hair wound with his.

They remained enveloped in that magical embrace. Love glow cast gentle pinks and blues over the entire bedroom. Glimmering sparkles floated in the air.

Eventually Poppy snuck away from the perfect hug and slipped off the bed. Branch followed her to the dresser. She placed the heart in the center of the puffy moss, making sure it rested flat and snug inside.

They looked at the heart jewel.

"Did it work?" Poppy asked.

"I have no idea."

There was nothing to do now but wait.

The intense feeling from before stirred within. The energy begged for connection, to be intimate with Branch and treat him with praise and affection. Her hand curled around his. Watching the beautiful gem inside the moss, like this, was pleasant. Yet her inner heart tugged for more.

"Poppy…" His whisper was breathy with emotion. He felt it too. He wanted to be close too.

Tender familiarity pressed into the kiss she gave. Fingers mingled as their footsteps trailed backward to the bed.

~ ~ ~

The next morning Poppy reached out to cuddle. Her arm touched empty sheets. Confusion swirled. Maybe she'd accidentally slept in. That, or Branch had risen early to visit his workshop at the base of the tree.

She sat up. He hadn't gone far.

Her husband stood at the moss-blanketed dresser with his broad teal back to her, wearing only heart patterned boxers. Messy hair hadn't been brushed yet. When he heard her move he turned to the side. Awe shone in his eyes.

A single white lotus petal sprouted from the center of their jewel. The first petal of many more to come.

~ ~ ~

Poppy exploded into her dad's pod and tackled him with a hug. If he'd been smaller she would've picked him up and spun him around. The former king laughed. "Somebody's had too much sugar this morning."

Branch stepped inside with a glowing smile. When Poppy bounced back to his side he unfolded his arms. She grasped his hand.

"Dad, you're going to be a grandpa!"

~ ~ ~

Branch liked to check their blossom a few times each day. He built it into his routine.

"Is it developing okay? It grew faster yesterday. I only see one new petal now," he fussed.

"It's fine, I'm sure it's fine." Poppy laughed somewhat nervously.

According to the scrapbooks everything was normal. But _what if_ the sudden growth spurts were signs of an underlying issue? _What if_ their baby was born different? _What if_ —

Okay, enough of that.

Literally everything they'd read and all trolls they'd spoken to confirmed their flower was completely healthy in every way. For his own sanity he consciously chose to believe that. Poppy did the same. They'd never had a baby before. They didn't know what they were doing!

Then he'd watch their calm little blossom and the panic would slowly subside. Peaceful white petals lapped protectively around an egg shape. What would the eggshell look like? The more he wondered the more amazement tickled his thoughts. Trolls were literally born of happiness, love, and wishes. He and Poppy had done this.

It shouldn't be possible. It didn't make sense. Yet day by day he watched the miracle unfold, all the sparkly particles of reality coming together to create a brand new person.

With every fibre of his being he hoped to be a good parent. He wouldn't be too paranoid, or overprotective, or harsh, would he?

Poppy had her own fears.

"I'm worried, Branch. What if they don't like music? What if they don't like _me?_ "

"Uh, Poppy, a) that has literally never happened. And b) that has also literally never happened. It'll be alright."

They told each other that a lot, echoing reassurance given by friends and family.

Often when Branch was downstairs he'd hear Poppy's melodies drifting from the bedroom. She'd made space to scrapbook up there while their flower lived through its fragile phase. When she was away he'd take projects upstairs instead of going to the workshop. Interaction with their unborn little one was supposed to be good for everyone involved. Sometimes Branch simply enjoyed being in the same room, even if he didn't feel like talking.

On the other hand Poppy loved coming home and telling their child funny stuff she'd seen, which troll had done what today, and all the things she was excited to explore when they hatched. Part of Branch fell in love with her all over again.

The cozy hominess he experienced when caring for their flower had no equal. At night when the three of them slept in the same room he felt a type of love he'd never known. The urge to protect was fierce to the point of being scary. He feared if a predator or storm threatened their pod he'd go ballistic like that day years ago in Symphonyville.

The secret anxiety never came to pass. Days passed smoothly.

He cleared out crafting supplies they'd been storing upstairs, moving them to the last spare room in the pod. All of Poppy's scrapbooking materials carefully organized into a tight-knit system. They barely fit. Standing here surrounded by floor to ceiling bins it was impossible to tell this room was as big as the empty one next door. His insides twisted anxiously at the thought of having to move all this again someday. One at a time...

Their blossom kept getting bigger. Any day it'd bloom with the egg inside. He was going to be a dad. Oh, sugar, _he was going to be a dad_. He had no clue how to do that. **DAD.** Don't think about it! Don't think!

"Branch, are you ok?"

"Haha," he squeaked.

His wife smiled. The wobbly line was just as jittery as he felt. "Thanks for cleaning the new bedroom. If you lie down I'll give you a massage?..."

She only needed to say that once.

The next day he'd barely started into a safety inspection for the village elevator when Smidge came tearing down the tree. Branch didn't even need to hear what she had to say before he was flying over bark paths to his pod.

Upstairs Poppy stood beside the dresser. The flower had bloomed. Open petals cushioned a colorful egg. Their egg.

The most beautiful shade of lavender he'd ever seen coated the shell. The color was both soft and vibrant at the same time. Its surface sparkled with patterning in mom and dad's hues. Most surprising, though, was the prominent band of gold.

"Your colors or mine?" he asked. Did he have gold in his ancestry? Must be Poppy's.

"I thought it might be yours."

Neither had a clue. They realized this and laughed. Either they'd unburied a secret color out of their family trees, or they'd created a new one. It didn't matter.

"I love you already," Poppy said, snuggling their egg to her cheek. "I can't wait to meet you."

The thick hardy shell protecting their baby relieved Branch. Now he only had everything else to worry about. If there was supposed to be some kind of child-raising instinct, it didn't kick in. They had to figure this all out by living it.

It amazed him he could hold their egg in two hands. Slight warmth echoed from the shell. He wondered what it'd feel like when it started moving. He was excited. And terrified. "We have to keep them warm."

Poppy undid her topknot. Branch put their baby inside. He wanted to worry at Poppy about whether she could carry and be Queen at the same time. Was she going to get into crazy parties? Would she be engaging in any insane sports? If he was the egg bearer it'd be easier on her.

But Branch knew his wife, and he knew she didn't want or need to hear any of that. Also it was clear as day to him how eagerly she wished to take their egg everywhere and be together as much as possible.

He wanted that too.

Well, no problem. He could stick by Queen Poppy's side just like the good old days.

~ ~ ~

"Branch, stop hovering!" his wife snapped loud enough to make him wince. He hadn't even been standing that close. Sheepishly he shuffled even further back on the mushroom. It felt unnatural to be this far apart. He may as well be an audience member.

Trolls down below giggled. The Queen had been in the middle of a speech about how to welcome the Reggaeton trolls who would be visiting soon.

Poppy lost her track of thought. Her brow furrowed. Uncharacteristic frustration tightened the atmosphere. "Arrgh, I don't know! Just. Ease up on the hugging for them," she huffed. Then she glared at Branch. Mhmm. Definitely annoyed.

He wasn't even surprised. Ever since she'd taken charge of their egg she'd been getting moody. The villagers didn't know what to make of it. All except the other parents, of course. Those ones treated their grumpy queen with the grinning cheer of "been there done that."

After everyone left she teared up. "I'm sorry," she whimpered. "I don't know what came over me, I just feel so… so… frustrated. And now I'm sad."

"Can I carry them for a little while?"

She was reluctant. It took a couple more prompts to convince her to trade the egg into his care for the rest of the day. It took a lot more convincing across the week to win full daycare in his hair.

"I really, really don't want to miss them hatching!" Poppy voiced her main fear.

"I'm never far away. If anything happens I'll get you." It was the best he could offer. They didn't get to decide how or when their trolling hatched - if it'd be a sudden shattering party, or, he hoped, a little more easygoing.

His wife trusted him with it. The village rested easier after that. For a while everyone got to enjoy grouchy old dad Branch instead.

The day he felt the egg move for the first time he leapt out of their pod, pulled Poppy from a singing routine, and made her hold the egg until it moved again. Her eyes went wide. Both of them spent the rest of the day freaking out in a good way.

At night Poppy took over and held their egg in her hair. She read scrapbooks to the baby. He felt like a lovesick cuddlepup who could watch her do that for hours.

A lot happened in such a short time. He couldn't keep track of it all. It was overwhelming and glorious and everything in between. They'd definitely embarked on a new adventure together.

Many hug times came and went. The egg moved more each day.

~ ~ ~

"I'm going for a walk," Branch called from the doorway.

"Okay. Have fun!"

He stepped onto the path he'd walked thousands of times before. The tree bough widened as it approached the trunk. Multicolored pods dotted the neighborhood. Thoughts wandered.

For years he'd been certain he'd never have kids, never find that kind of love. If he did, they'd have lived a harrowed life underground in fear of the outside. It wasn't a world he wanted to raise children in.

He was glad the egg in his hair would live free of those worries. They'd grow up in the tree like he had, with bark to toughen their feet and leafy limbs to exercise their hair. Ground predators couldn't reach them. There wouldn't be bars to cage them. There'd be new challenges, but nothing like what his own parents had faced.

Branch wandered a route away from the popular areas. Bough by bough he lowered himself to the grass. Nearby he found the sunny spot he liked and stopped there. Carrying the egg gave him less hair space but he still had enough for the journal. The supple, worn purple cover greeted his fingertips.

Branch opened the book with care to not disturb loose leaf pages stuck throughout. In a few years he'd unglue and rebind it all into a new cover. For now, it was a draft.

Which section inspired him today? He flipped until the heading _Songs_ popped up.

Branch pulled a blank page, smoothed it into the margin, and started writing.

He hoped he'd be here for a long time yet. He wrote down all the things he wanted to teach his trolling anyway. Just in case.

Branch's additions went alongside the words his mother left him.

After a time he closed the journal. The sun had repositioned itself lower in the sky, enough that the beam shuffled through leaves to flicker over his spot. Feeling nostalgic Branch put the book away. His hand rested on the hot egg. Time to cool off.

He removed the gold banded shell and settled it on his lap. "You're easy to take care of now," he said. "But I get the feeling that's not gonna last."

With a sigh he rested against a rock, gaze tilted to the sky.

_I don't know if I'm the troll you thought I'd be, but I hope you'd be proud of me anyway. And I wish you could've met your grandkid._

He thought about his parents, and grandma, and Gary. In his lap the egg kicked.

_Do you think we'll be okay?_

Branch received no answer. But he had a feeling if his older brother were there, he'd be getting a hearty pat on the shoulder and the words, "It'll be fine. You worry too much."

~ ~ ~

Branch insisted on doing the dishes. Just because he carried their egg most of the time didn't turn him into glass. At the moment he was happy to not be feeling so grumpy, or hungry, or woozy. Unusual warmth heated his hair but it'd been that way for days. A normal egg-bearer thing, apparently. He lifted a plate from the sink's soapy water.

The top of his head tickled.

He started drying the plate. Then he almost dropped it.

His hair moved again.

Terrified to budge Branch stood frozen. Water dripped along the dish through his fingers. "Poppy…!"

She appeared immediately. "What? What's wrong?"

"I think it's hatching."

Something tapped against his scalp. His voice went up an octave. "Definitely hatching!"

"Woah, okay… okay." She slipped the plate out of his grasp. Hands wrapped around his, easing the spike of fear that'd come out of nowhere. Eyes trained up at his hair. Was the eggshell going to pop out and explode? He couldn't feel it anymore!

No explosion.

Another shell fragment clicked onto his head. The chip toppled out to the floor. Poppy's hands tightened in a death grip. She was trying not to squeal. Their baby was coming.

"I'm going to get the delivery blanket," she said. "I'll be right back, I promise. Ten seconds. Don't move, okay?"

His wife took off for the next room. An overwhelming, irrational sense of loss made him tear up. He didn't want to do this alone.

The instant she raced back to the kitchen relief comforted him. Poppy spread a square of rainbow fluff over the table. Whatever look was on his face made her smile in sympathy. "C'mere Branch. Open your hair. It's not scary."

"You're not the one with an egg breaking over your head," he grumbled shakily.

Loving pink hands collected their egg and laid it on the fluff blanket. Cracks rippled along the shell surface and tiny pieces were missing. Another chip cracked off. The egg fell still for a minute. Maybe a few minutes. He wasn't counting.

It was somewhat agonizing to watch the slow emergence.

"I want to help," Poppy said. Yet they both knew they had to be patient.

Branch was so absorbed in fighting the urge to assist the hatching that he didn't notice the cracks spreading in a calculated pattern until the last moment.

All at once larger sections of shell broke away.

Inside curled a perfect little trolling with their eyes still closed. The shell cap teetered cutely on top of their furled hair.

The baby looked so small and fragile. He feared if he tried to hold them he'd mess up. At the same time he didn't want to let them go one more second without physical affection. Carefully Branch picked off the shell crown. His baby whuffed and squirmed a bit at that. They were so quiet… were they okay?

"She's beautiful," Poppy whispered, overcome by emotion.

Under his wife's teary gaze Branch picked up their child for the first time. The baby cradled in his arms like a puzzle piece, but it still felt weird, and scary, like she'd break. At the same time he was awestruck. And he didn't want to let go, ever.

A rainbow of feelings surged through Branch while he gazed down at the resting newborn in his arms.

Then she smiled.

Oh.

Love seemed a weak word to describe it. An emotion without name sank into his heart. It changed him into a stronger, different version of the troll who'd stepped into this room an hour ago.

In that moment Branch understood why his family had made the sacrifices they had. He knew why his grandma had saved him. When he held his daughter, he realized he'd breathe his last breath if that's what it took to keep her safe. He wanted to protect her from every bad thing in life even though that was impossible. The torrent of love threatened to squeeze him dry.

Poppy recovered from her own rapture and hovered around him desperately. He passed their little one to her. It felt like giving his own heart away all over again, except stronger. Their daughter's eyelashes fluttered but she didn't open them just yet.

The image of Poppy holding their newborn was one that Branch would never forget.

He thought about all the things he lived through. He remembered the tree where he'd grown up, and the tree he lived in now, and the family who'd come and gone too soon. He recalled spending years holed up in grayness. He'd struggled free of it. He'd loved, and learned to love again. He'd lost. He'd survived. And he regretted none of it. If he had to choose he'd do it all again in a heartbeat. Because right here, right now, this was happiness.

These were his true colors.

"What should we name her?" Poppy asked.

Branch quietly gathered his wife into a hug from behind. She beamed like a ray of sunshine with their daughter cradled in her arms. He thought back on all that came before, and he knew. Even before eyes the color of honey and smiles opened, he knew.

The perfect name.

"Joy."


End file.
